Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti

by Christina Rossetti

  AFTER THIS THE JUDGEMENT

  As eager homebound traveller to the goal,

  Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main,

  Or martyr panting for an aureole,

  My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attain

  That hidden mansion of perpetual peace

  Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain:

  That gate stands open of perennial ease;

  I view the glory till I partly long,

  Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these.

  O passing Angel, speed me with a song,

  A melody of heaven to reach my heart

  And rouse me to the race and make me strong;

  Till in such music I take up my part

  Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest,

  One, tenfold, hundredfold, with heavenly art,

  Fulfilling north and south and east and west,

  Thousand, ten thousandfold, innumerable,

  All blent in one yet each one manifest;

  Each one distinguished and beloved as well

  As if no second voice in earth or heaven

  Were lifted up the Love of God to tell.

  Ah, Love of God, which Thine own Self hast given

  To me most poor, and made me rich in love,

  Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven,

  Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above,

  My treasure ad my heart store Thou in Thee,

  Brood over me with yearnings of a dove;

  Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me;

  Love me as very mother loves her son,

  Her sucking firstborn fondled on her knee:

  Yea, more than mother loves her little one;

  For, earthly, even a mother may forget

  And feel no pity for its piteous moan;

  But thou, O Love of God, remember yet,

  Through the dry desert, through the waterflood

  (Life, death) until the Great White Throne is set.

  If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud

  Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace

  And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood,

  How shall I then stand up before Thy face

  When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid

  And utmost Justice stand in Mercy’s place:

  When every sin I thought or spoke or did

  Shall meet me at the inexorable bar,

  And there be no man standing in the mid

  To plead for me; while star fallen after star

  With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock,

  And all time’s mighty works and wonders are

  Consumed as in a moment; when no rock

  Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide,

  But I stand all creation’s gazing-stock

  Exposed and comfortless on every side,

  Placed trembling in the final balances

  Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried? —

  Ah Love of God, if greater love than this

  Hath no man, that a man die for his friend,

  And if such love of love Thine Own Love is,

  Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end;

  Redeem me from the irrevocable past;

  Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend;

  Yea seek with piercèd feet, yea hold me fast

  With piercèd hands whose wounds were made by love;

  Not what I am, remember what Thou wast

  When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above,

  And sin Thy Father’s Face, while thou didst drink

  The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof

  For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink

  Beneath the intense intolerable rod,

  Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think

  Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God.

  GOOD FRIDAY

  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,

  And yet not weep?

  Not so those women loved

  Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;

  Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;

  Not so the thief was moved;

  Not so the Sun and Moon

  Which hid their faces in a starless sky,

  A horror of great darkness at broad noon —

  I, only I.

  Yet give not o’er,

  But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;

  Greater than Moses, turn and look once more

  And smite a rock.

  THE LOWEST PLACE

  Give me the lowest place: not that I dare

  Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died

  That I might live and share

  Thy glory by Thy side.

  Give me the lowest place: or if for me

  That lowest place too high, make one more low

  Where I may sit and see

  My God and love Thee so.

  GOBLIN MARKET AND OTHER POEMS

  First published in 1862, this poetry collection features Rossetti’s most celebrated poem, which was illustrated by her brother, the Pre-Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Although in later times the poem has been well documented for its feminist and homosexual interpretations, Rossetti later explained in a letter to her editor that Goblin Market was not originally intended for children. Nevertheless, the poet often stated in public that it was meant for a young audience, allowing her to target children’s poetry in following collections.

  Goblin Market employs an irregular rhyme scheme, using couplets and alternate rhymes, as well as an irregular metre, supporting the disturbing nature of the narrative. The poem concerns two close sisters, Laura and Lizzie, as well as the goblin creatures referred to in the title. Although the sisters are young, they live alone in a house, where they draw water every evening from a stream. As the poem opens, twilight is falling and the sisters hear the calls from the goblin merchants, who sell fruits in fantastic abundance. As Laura lingers at the stream, after her sister has left for home, she is intrigued by the goblins’ strange manner and appearance. Wanting fruit but having no money, the impulsive Laura offers instead a lock of her hair and “a tear more rare than pearl.”

  The first edition

  CONTENTS

  GOBLIN MARKET

  IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI, JUNE 8, 1857

  DREAM LAND

  AT HOME

  A TRIAD

  LOVE FROM THE NORTH

  WINTER RAIN

  COUSIN KATE

  NOBLE SISTERS

  SPRING

  THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860

  A BIRTHDAY

  REMEMBER

  AFTER DEATH

  AN END

  MY DREAM

  SONG: OH ROSES FOR THE FLUSH OF YOUTH

  THE HOUR AND THE GHOST

  A SUMMER WISH

  AN APPLE GATHERING

  SONG: TWO DOVES UPON THE SELFSAME BRANCH

  MAUDE CLARE

  ECHO

  WINTER: MY SECRET

  ANOTHER SPRING

  A PEAL OF BELLS

  FATA MORGANA

  NO, THANK YOU, JOHN

  MAY: I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW IT WAS

  A PAUSE OF THOUGHT

  TWILIGHT CALM

  WIFE TO HUSBAND

  THREE SEASONS

  MIRAGE

  SHUT OUT

  SOUND SLEEP

  SONG: SHE SAT AND SANG ALWAY

  SONG: WHEN I AM DEAD, MY DEAREST

  DEAD BEFORE DEATH

  BITTER FOR SWEET

  SISTER MAUDE

  REST

  THE FIRST SPRING DAY

  THE CONVENT THRESHOLD

  UP-HILL

  GOBLIN MARKET

  Morning and evening

  Maids heard the goblins cry:

  ‘Come buy our orchard fruits,

&nb
sp; Come buy, come buy:

  Apples and quinces,

  Lemons and oranges,

  Plump unpecked cherries,

  Melons and raspberries,

  Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,

  Swart-headed mulberries, 10

  Wild free-born cranberries,

  Crab-apples, dewberries,

  Pine-apples, blackberries,

  Apricots, strawberries; —

  All ripe together

  In summer weather, —

  Morns that pass by,

  Fair eves that fly;

  Come buy, come buy:

  Our grapes fresh from the vine, 20

  Pomegranates full and fine,

  Dates and sharp bullaces,

  Rare pears and greengages,

  Damsons and bilberries,

  Taste them and try:

  Currants and gooseberries,

  Bright-fire-like barberries,

  Figs to fill your mouth,

  Citrons from the South,

  Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; 30

  Come buy, come buy.’

  Evening by evening

  Among the brookside rushes,

  Laura bowed her head to hear,

  Lizzie veiled her blushes:

  Crouching close together

  In the cooling weather,

  With clasping arms and cautioning lips,

  With tingling cheeks and finger tips.

  ‘Lie close,’ Laura said, 40

  Pricking up her golden head:

  ‘We must not look at goblin men,

  We must not buy their fruits:

  Who knows upon what soil they fed

  Their hungry thirsty roots?’

  ‘Come buy,’ call the goblins

  Hobbling down the glen.

  ‘Oh,’ cried Lizzie, ‘Laura, Laura,

  You should not peep at goblin men.’

  Lizzie covered up her eyes, 50

  Covered close lest they should look;

  Laura reared her glossy head,

  And whispered like the restless brook:

  ‘Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,

  Down the glen tramp little men.

  One hauls a basket,

  One bears a plate,

  One lugs a golden dish

  Of many pounds weight.

  How fair the vine must grow 60

  Whose grapes are so luscious;

  How warm the wind must blow

  Through those fruit bushes.’

  ‘No,’ said Lizzie, ‘No, no, no;

  Their offers should not charm us,

  Their evil gifts would harm us.’

  She thrust a dimpled finger

  In each ear, shut eyes and ran:

  Curious Laura chose to linger

  Wondering at each merchant man. 70

  One had a cat’s face,

  One whisked a tail,

  One tramped at a rat’s pace,

  One crawled like a snail,

  One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,

  One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.

  She heard a voice like voice of doves

  Cooing all together:

  They sounded kind and full of loves

  In the pleasant weather. 80

  Laura stretched her gleaming neck

  Like a rush-imbedded swan,

  Like a lily from the beck,

  Like a moonlit poplar branch,

  Like a vessel at the launch

  When its last restraint is gone.

  Backwards up the mossy glen

  Turned and trooped the goblin men,

  With their shrill repeated cry,

  ‘Come buy, come buy.’ 90

  When they reached where Laura was

  They stood stock still upon the moss,

  Leering at each other,

  Brother with queer brother;

  Signalling each other,

  Brother with sly brother.

  One set his basket down,

  One reared his plate;

  One began to weave a crown

  Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown 100

  (Men sell not such in any town);

  One heaved the golden weight

  Of dish and fruit to offer her:

  ‘Come buy, come buy,’ was still their cry.

  Laura stared but did not stir,

  Longed but had no money:

  The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste

  In tones as smooth as honey,

  The cat-faced purr’d,

  The rat-faced spoke a word 110

  Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;

  One parrot-voiced and jolly

  Cried ‘Pretty Goblin’ still for ‘Pretty Polly;’ —

  One whistled like a bird.

  But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:

  ‘Good folk, I have no coin;

  To take were to purloin:

  I have no copper in my purse,

  I have no silver either,

  And all my gold is on the furze 120

  That shakes in windy weather

  Above the rusty heather.’

  ‘You have much gold upon your head,’

  They answered all together:

  ‘Buy from us with a golden curl.’

  She clipped a precious golden lock,

  She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,

  Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:

  Sweeter than honey from the rock,

  Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, 130

  Clearer than water flowed that juice;

  She never tasted such before,

  How should it cloy with length of use?

  She sucked and sucked and sucked the more

  Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;

  She sucked until her lips were sore;

  Then flung the emptied rinds away

  But gathered up one kernel stone,

  And knew not was it night or day

  As she turned home alone. 140

  Lizzie met her at the gate

  Full of wise upbraidings:

  ‘Dear, you should not stay so late,

  Twilight is not good for maidens;

  Should not loiter in the glen

  In the haunts of goblin men.

  Do you not remember Jeanie,

  How she met them in the moonlight,

  Took their gifts both choice and many,

  Ate their fruits and wore their flowers 150

  Plucked from bowers

  Where summer ripens at all hours?

  But ever in the noonlight

  She pined and pined away;

  Sought them by night and day,

  Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey;

  Then fell with the first snow,

  While to this day no grass will grow

  Where she lies low:

  I planted daisies there a year ago 160

  That never blow.

  You should not loiter so.’

  ‘Nay, hush,’ said Laura:

  ‘Nay, hush, my sister:

  I ate and ate my fill,

  Yet my mouth waters still;

  To-morrow night I will

  Buy more:’ and kissed her:

  ‘Have done with sorrow;

  I’ll bring you plums to-morrow 170

  Fresh on their mother twigs,

  Cherries worth getting;

  You cannot think what figs

  My teeth have met in,

  What melons icy-cold

  Piled on a dish of gold

  Too huge for me to hold,

  What peaches with a velvet nap,

  Pellucid grapes without one seed:

  Odorous indeed must be the mead 180

  Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink

  With lilies at the brink,

  And sugar-sweet their sap.’

  Golden head by golden head,

  Like two pigeons in one nest

  Folded in each othe
r’s wings,

  They lay down in their curtained bed:

  Like two blossoms on one stem,

  Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow,

  Like two wands of ivory 190

  Tipped with gold for awful kings.

  Moon and stars gazed in at them,

  Wind sang to them lullaby,

  Lumbering owls forbore to fly,

  Not a bat flapped to and fro

  Round their rest:

  Cheek to cheek and breast to breast

  Locked together in one nest.

  Early in the morning

  When the first cock crowed his warning, 200

  Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,

  Laura rose with Lizzie:

  Fetched in honey, milked the cows,

  Aired and set to rights the house,

  Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,

  Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,

  Next churned butter, whipped up cream,

  Fed their poultry, sat and sewed;

  Talked as modest maidens should:

  Lizzie with an open heart, 210

  Laura in an absent dream,

  One content, one sick in part;

  One warbling for the mere bright day’s delight,

  One longing for the night.

  At length slow evening came:

  They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;

  Lizzie most placid in her look,

  Laura most like a leaping flame.

  They drew the gurgling water from its deep;

  Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags, 220

  Then turning homeward said: ‘The sunset flushes

  Those furthest loftiest crags;

  Come, Laura, not another maiden lags,

  No wilful squirrel wags,

  The beasts and birds are fast asleep.’

  But Laura loitered still among the rushes

  And said the bank was steep.

  And said the hour was early still

  The dew not fall’n, the wind not chill:

  Listening ever, but not catching 230

  The customary cry,

  ‘Come buy, come buy,’

  With its iterated jingle

  Of sugar-baited words:

  Not for all her watching

  Once discerning even one goblin

  Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;

  Let alone the herds

  That used to tramp along the glen,

  In groups or single, 240

  Of brisk fruit-merchant men.

  Till Lizzie urged, ‘O Laura, come;

  I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look:

  You should not loiter longer at this brook: