Poems by Christina Georgina RossettiI have no wit, no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears.
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
A fool I was to sleep at noon,
And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
They made the chamber sweet with flowers and leaves,
And the bed sweet with flowers on which I lay;
She stands as pale as Parian statues stand;
Like Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
And felt her strength above the Roman sway,
THE irresponsive silence of the land,
The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
Speak both one message of one sense to me:--
I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple tree
And wore them all that evening in my hair:
Then in due season when I went to see
When I was dead, my spirit turned
To seek the much-frequented house:
I passed the door, and saw my friends
Before the winter morn,
Before the earliest cock crow,
Jesus Christ was born:
Born in a stable,
Cradled in a manger,
Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss,
From 'The Prince's Progress'
TOO late for love, too late for joy,
Too late, too late!
You loiter'd on the road too long,
Why does the sea moan evermore?
Shut out from heaven it makes its moan,
It frets against the boundary shore;
It is a land with neither night nor day,
Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind, nor rain,
Nor hills nor valleys; but one even plain
I was a cottage maiden
Hardened by sun and air
Contented with my cottage mates,
Not mindful I was fair.
Oh why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat.
Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
The splendour of the kindling day,
The splendor of the setting sun,
These move my soul to wend its way,
And have done
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,
A silly sheep benighted from the fold,
It's a weary life, it is, she said:
Doubly blank in a woman's lot:
I wish and I wish I were a man:
VI
We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack:
Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly.
We see the things we do not yearn to see
Sleep, little Baby, sleep,
The holy Angels love thee,
And guard thy bed, and keep
A blessed watch above thee.
One face looks out from all his canvases,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:
Ten years ago it seemed impossible
That she should ever grow so calm as this,
With self-remembrance in her warmest kiss
I sat beneath a willow tree,
Where water falls and calls;
While fancies upon fancies solaced me,
SAFE where I cannot die yet,
Safe where I hope to lie too,
Safe from the fume and the fret;
You, and you,
Whom I never forget.
Something this foggy day, a something which
Is neither of this fog nor of today,
Has set me dreaming of the winds that play
MARVEL of marvels, if I myself shall behold
With mine own eyes my King in His city of gold;
Out of the church she followed them
With a lofty step and mien:
His bride was like a village maid,
I cannot tell you how it was,
But this I know: it came to pass
Upon a bright and sunny day
The hope I dreamed of was a dream,
Was but a dream; and now I wake,
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
1
Lo dì che han detto a' dolci amici addio.- Dante
Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!- Petrarca
I never said I loved you, John:
Why will you tease me day by day,
And wax a weariness to think upon
Passing away, saith the World, passing away:
Chances, beauty and youth, sapp'd day by day:
Promise me no promises,
So will I not promise you:
Keep we both our liberties,
Never false and never true:
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
O EARTH, lie heavily upon her eyes;
Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth;
Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth
I sigh at day-dawn, and I sigh
When the dull day is passing by.
I sigh at evening, and again
Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass, -
The finger-points look through like rosy blooms:
Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over,
Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past,
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Gone were but the Winter,
Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
Where the birds sing;
Where in the whitethorn
There's blood between us, love, my love,
There's father's blood, there's brother's blood,
And blood's a bar I cannot pass.
I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me;
If bright or dim the season, it might be
"Too late for love, too late for joy,
Too late, too late!
You loitered on the road too long,
You trifled at the gate:
I
The irresponsive silence of the land,
The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
Speak both one message of one sense to me:--
THE FLESH
"Sweet, thou art pale."
"More pale to see,
Christ hung upon the cruel tree
And bore His Father's wrath for me."
I took my heart in my hand
(O my love, O my love),
I said: Let me fall or stand,
Let me live or die,
DOES the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through,
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do!
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
God strengthen me to bear myself;
That heaviest weight of all to bear,
Inalienable weight of care.
I tell my secret? No indeed, not I:
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows,
