The Pearl A Middle English Poem, A Modern Version in the Metre of the Original — Key Ideas to Explore

were no ripe wheat stored away; Of good come good things, so we say, Then surely such seed faileth not, But spices spring in sweet array From my pearl, precious, without spot.

Once, to that spot of which I rhyme, I entered, in the arbour green, In August, the high summer-time When corn is cut with sickles keen; Upon the mound where my pearl fell, Tall, shadowing herbs grew bright and sheen, Gilliflower, ginger and gromwell, With peonies powdered all between. As it was lovely to be seen, So sweet the fragrance there, I wot, Worthy her dwelling who hath been My own pearl, precious, without spot.

Upon that spot my hands I crossed In prayer, for cold at my heart caught, And sudden sorrow surged and tossed, Though reason reconcilement sought. I mourned my pearl, dear beyond cost, And strange fears with my fancy fought; My will in wretchedness was lost, And yet Christ comforted my thought. Such odours to my sense were brought, I fell upon that flowery plot, Sleeping,--a sleep with dreams inwrought Of my pearl, precious, without spot.

From the spot my spirit springs into space, The while my body sleeping lies; My ghost is gone in God's good grace, Adventuring mid mysteries; I know not what might be the place, But I looked where tall cliffs cleave the skies, Toward a forest I turned my face, Where ranks of radiant rocks arise. A man might scarce believe his eyes, Such gleaming glory was from them sent; No woven web may men devise Of half such wondrous beauties blent.

In beauty shone each fair hillside With crystal cliffs in shining row, While bright woods everywhere abide, Their boles as blue as indigo; Like silver clear the leaves spread wide, That on each spray thick-quivering grow; If a flash of light across them glide With shimmering sheen they gleam and glow; The gravel on the ground below Seemed precious pearls of Orient; The sunbeams did but darkling show So gloriously those beauties blent.

The beauty of the hills so fair Made me forget my sufferings; I breathed fruit fragrance fine and rare, As if I fed on unseen things; Brave birds fly through the woodland there, Of flaming hues, and each one sings; With their mad mirth may not compare Cithern nor gayest citole-strings; For when those bright birds beat their wings, They sing together, all content; Keen joy to any man it brings To hear and see such beauties blent.

So beautiful was all the wood Where, guided forth by Chance, I strayed, There is no tongue that fully could Describe it, though all men essayed. Onward I walked in merriest mood Nor any highest hill delayed My feet. Far through the forest stood The plain with fairest trees arrayed, Hedges and slopes and rivers wide, Like gold thread their banks' garnishment; And when I won the waterside, Dear Lord! what wondrous beauties blent!

The beauties of that stream were steep, All-radiant banks of beryl bright; Sweet-sighing did the water sweep, With murmuring music running light; Within its bed fair stones lay deep; As if through glass they glowed, as white As streaming stars when tired men sleep Shine in the sky on a winter night. Pure emerald even the pebbles seemed, Sapphire, or other gems that lent Luster, till all the water gleamed With the glory of such beauties blent.

For the beauteousness of downs and dales, Of wood and water and proud plains, My joy springs up and my grief quails, My anguish ends, and all my pains. A swift stream down the valley hales My feet along. Bliss brims my brains; The farther I follow those watery vales, The stronger joy my heart constrains. While Fortune fares as her proud will deigns, Sending solace or sending sore, When a man her fickle favour gains, He looketh to have aye more and more.

There was more of marvel and of grace Than I could tell, howe'er I tried; The human heart that could embrace A tenth part were well satisfied; For Paradise, the very place, Must be upon that farther side; The water by a narrow space Pleasance from pleasance did divide. Beyond, on some slope undescried The City stood, I thought, wherefore I strove to cross the river's tide, And ever I longed, yet more and more.