Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti

by Christina Rossetti

  Who swept the Red Sea dry before our feet,

  Who in His jealousy smote kings, and hath

  Sworn once to David: One shall fill thy seat

  Born of thy body, as the sun and moon

  ‘Stablished for aye in sovereignty complete.

  O Lord, remember David, and that soon.

  The Glory hath departed, Ichabod!

  Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon,

  Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod,

  Before we go down quick into the pit,

  Remember us for good, O God, our God: —

  Thy Name will I remember, praising it,

  Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face,

  And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ;

  Thy Name will I remember in my praise

  And call to mind Thy faithfulness of old,

  Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days

  And end me as a tale ends that is told.

  PARADISE

  Once in a dream I saw the flowers

  That bud and bloom in Paradise;

  More fair they are than waking eyes

  Have seen in all this world of ours.

  And faint the perfume-bearing rose,

  And faint the lily on its stem,

  And faint the perfect violet

  Compared with them.

  I heard the songs of Paradise:

  Each bird sat singing in his place;

  A tender song so full of grace

  It soared like incense to the skies.

  Each bird sat singing to his mate

  Soft-cooing notes among the trees:

  The nightingale herself were cold

  To such as these.

  I saw the fourfold River flow,

  And deep it was, with golden sand;

  It flowed between a mossy land

  With murmured music grave and low.

  It hath refreshment for all thirst,

  For fainting spirits strength and rest;

  Earth holds not such a draught as this

  From east to west.

  The Tree of Life stood budding there,

  Abundant with its twelvefold fruits;

  Eternal sap sustains its roots,

  Its shadowing branches fill the air.

  Its leaves are healing for the world,

  Its fruit the hungry world can feed,

  Sweeter than honey to the taste,

  And balm indeed.

  I saw the gate called Beautiful;

  And looked, but scarce could look within;

  I saw the golden streets begin,

  And outskirts of the glassy pool.

  Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars,

  O green palm branches many-leaved —

  Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard,

  Nor heart conceived!

  I hope to see these things again,

  But not as once in dreams by night;

  To see them with my very sight,

  And touch and handle and attain:

  To have all Heaven beneath my feet

  For narrow way that once they trod;

  To have my part with all the saints,

  And with my God.

  MOTHER COUNTRY

  Oh what is that country

  And where can it be,

  Not mine own country,

  But dearer far to me?

  Yet mine own country,

  If I one day may see

  Its spices and cedars,

  Its gold and ivory.

  As I lie dreaming

  It rises, that land;

  There rises before me

  Its green golden strand,

  With the bowing cedars

  And the shining sand;

  It sparkles and flashes

  Like a shaken brand.

  Do angels lean nearer

  While I lie and long?

  I see their soft plumage

  And catch their windy song,

  Like the rise of a high tide

  Sweeping full and strong;

  I mark the outskirts

  Of their reverend throng.

  Oh what is a king here,

  Or what is a boor?

  Here all starve together,

  All dwarfed and poor;

  Here Death’s hand knocketh

  At door after door,

  He thins the dancers

  From the festal floor.

  Oh what is a handmaid,

  Or what is a queen?

  All must lie down together

  Where the turf is green,

  The foulest face hidden,

  The fairest not seen;

  Gone as if never

  They had breathed or been.

  Gone from sweet sunshine

  Underneath the sod,

  Turned from warm flesh and blood

  To senseless clod;

  Gone as if never

  They had toiled or trod,

  Gone out of sight of all

  Except our God.

  Shut into silence

  From the accustomed song

  Shut into solitude

  From all earth’s throng,

  Run down though swift of foot,

  Thrust down though strong;

  Life made an end of,

  Seemed it short or long.

  Life made an end of,

  Life but just begun;

  Life finished yesterday,

  Its last sand run;

  Life new-born with the morrow

  Fresh as the sun:

  While done is done for ever;

  Undone, undone.

  And if that life is life,

  This is but a breath,

  The passage of a dream

  And the shadow of death;

  But a vain shadow

  If one considereth;

  Vanity of vanities,

  As the Preacher saith.

  I WILL LIFT UP MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS

  I am pale with sick desire,

  For my heart is far away

  From this world’s fitful fire

  And this world’s waning day;

  In a dream it overleaps

  A world of tedious ills

  To where the sunshine sleeps

  On the everlasting hills. —

  Say the Saints: There Angels ease us

  Glorified and white.

  They say: We rest in Jesus,

  Where is not day or night.

  My soul saith: I have sought

  For a home that is not gained,

  I have spent yet nothing bought,

  Have laboured but not attained;

  My pride strove to mount and grow,

  And hath but dwindled down;

  My love sought love, and lo!

  Hath not attained its crown. —

  Say the Saints: Fresh souls increase us,

  None languish or recede.

  They say: We love our Jesus,

  And He loves us indeed.

  I cannot rise above,

  I cannot rest beneath,

  I cannot find out love,

  Or escape from death;

  Dear hopes and joys gone by

  Still mock me with a name;

  My best belovèd die,

  And I cannot die with them. —

  Say the Saints: No deaths decrease us,

  Where our rest is glorious.

  They say: We live in Jesus,

  Who once died for us.

  O my soul, she beats her wings

  And pants to fly away

  Up to immortal things

  In the heavenly day:

  Yet she flags and almost faints;

  Can such be meant for me? —

  Come and see, say the Saints.

  Saith Jesus: Come and see.

  Say the Saints: His pleasures please us

  Before God and the Lamb.

  Come and taste My sweets, saith Jesus:

  Be with Me where I
am.

  THE MASTER IS COME, AND CALLETH FOR THEE

  Who calleth? — Thy Father calleth,

  Run, O Daughter, to wait on Him:

  He Who chasteneth but for a season

  Trims thy lamp that it burn not dim.

  Who calleth? — Thy Master calleth,

  Sit, Disciple, and learn of Him:

  He Who teacheth wisdom of Angels

  Makes thee wise as the Cherubim,

  Who calleth? — Thy Monarch calleth,

  Rise, O Subject, and follow Him:

  He is stronger than Death or Devil,

  Fear not thou if the foe be grim.

  Who calleth? — Thy Lord God calleth.

  Fall, O Creature, adoring Him:

  He is jealous, thy God Almighty,

  Count not dear to thee life or limb.

  Who calleth? — Thy Bridegroom calleth,

  Soar, O Bride, with the Seraphim:

  He Who loves thee as no man loveth,

  Bids thee give up thy heart to Him.

  WHO SHALL DELIVER ME?

  God strengthen me to bear myself;

  That heaviest weight of all to bear,

  Inalienable weight of care.

  All others are outside myself;

  I lock my door and bar them out,

  The turmoil, tedium, gad-about.

  I lock my door upon myself,

  And bar them out; but who shall wall

  Self from myself, most loathed of all?

  If I could once lay down myself,

  And start self-purged upon the race

  That all must run! Death runs apace.

  If I could set aside myself,

  And start with lightened heart upon

  The road by all men overgone!

  God harden me against myself,

  This coward with pathetic voice

  Who craves for ease and rest and joys:

  Myself, arch-traitor to myself;

  My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe,

  My clog whatever road I go.

  Yet One there is can curb myself,

  Can roll the strangling load from me.

  Break off the yoke and set me free.

  WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL COMPLAIN

  “O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?

  Me whom thou settest in a barren land,

  Hungry and thirsty on the burning sand,

  Hungry and thirsty where no waters be

  Nor shadows of date-bearing tree: —

  O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?”

  “I came from Edom by as parched a track,

  As rough a track beneath My bleeding feet.

  I came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet

  I counted bitterness; I turned not back

  But counted life as death, and trod

  The winepress all alone: and I am God.”

  “Yet, Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?

  For Thou art strong to comfort: and could I

  But comfort one I love, who, like to die,

  Lifts feeble hands and eyes that fail to see

  In one last prayer for comfort — nay,

  I could not stand aside or turn away.”

  “Alas! thou knowest that for thee I died

  For thee I thirsted with the dying thirst;

  I, Blessed, for thy sake was counted cursed,

  In sight of men and angels crucified:

  All this and more I bore to prove

  My love, and wilt thou yet mistrust My love?”

  “Lord, I am fain to think Thou lovest me,

  For Thou art all in all and I am Thine;

  And lo! Thy love is better than new wine,

  And I am sick of love in loving Thee.

  But dost Thou love me? speak and save,

  For jealousy is cruel as the grave.”

  “Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath

  My love is as thine own — deep answers deep.

  Peace, peace: I give to my beloved sleep,

  Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death:

  Take patience; sweet thy sleep shall be,

  Yea, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me.”

  AFTER COMMUNION

  Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my God?

  Why should I call Thee Friend, Who art my Love?

  Or King, Who art my very Spouse above?

  Or call Thy Sceptre on my heart Thy rod?

  Lo, now Thy banner over me is love,

  All heaven flies open to me at Thy nod:

  For Thou hast lit Thy flame in me a clod,

  Made me a nest for dwelling of Thy Dove.

  What wilt Thou call me in our home above,

  Who now hast called me friend? how will it be

  When Thou for good wine settest forth the best?

  Now Thou dost bid me come and sup with Thee,

  Now Thou dost make me lean upon Thy breast:

  How will it be with me in time of love?

  SAINTS AND ANGELS

  It’s oh in Paradise that I fain would be,

  Away from earth and weariness and all beside;

  Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea,

  But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride.

  Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green,

  I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven;

  Putting on my raiment white within the screen,

  Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven

  Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan,

  Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood,

  Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone,

  And I know the gold of that land is good.

  O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes

  Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose;

  You and I who parted will meet in Paradise,

  Pass within and sing when the gates unclose.

  This life is but the passage of a day,

  This life is but a pang and all is over;

  But in the life to come which fades not away

  Every love shall abide and every lover.

  He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore,

  Solomon, wrote “Vanity of vanities:”

  Down to death, of all that went before

  In his mighty long life, the record is this.

  With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure,

  Is this he who wrote “Vanity of vanities”?

  Yea, “Vanity of vanities” he saith of pleasure,

  And of all he learned set his seal to this.

  Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one,

  And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure,

  Although there be nothing new beneath the sun

  And no help for life and for death no cure.

  The road to death is life, the gate of life is death,

  We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane;

  Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath,

  The fall of a river that turneth not again.

  Be the road short, and be the gate near, —

  Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall?

  The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear,

  And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.

  A ROSE PLANT IN JERICHO

  At morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee,

  A rose of joy and happy love and peace,

  A rose with scarce a thorn:

  But in the chillness of a second morn

  My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase

  Was but one thorn that wounded me.

  I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee;

  And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace,

  Not joy this mortal morn:

  If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn,

  Wilt thou not give me for my rose increase

  Of gladness, and all sweets t
o me?

  My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee

  I offer; and I set my heart in peace,

  And rest upon my thorn:

  For verily I think tomorrow morn

  Shall bring me Paradise, my gift’s increase,

  Yea, give Thy very Self to me.

  SING-SONG: A NURSERY RHYME BOOK

  RHYMES

  DEDICATED

  WITHOUT PERMISSION

  TO

  THE BABY

  WHO

  SUGGESTED

  THEM

  CONTENTS

  ANGELS AT THE FOOT

  LOVE ME, — I LOVE YOU

  MY BABY HAS A FATHER AND A MOTHER

  OUR LITTLE BABY FELL ASLEEP

  KOOKOOROOKOO! KOOKOOROOKOO!

  BABY CRY

  EIGHT O’CLOCK

  BREAD AND MILK FOR BREAKFAST

  THERE’S SNOW ON THE FIELDS

  DEAD IN THE COLD, A SONG-SINGING THRUSH

  I DUG AND DUG AMONGST THE SNOW

  A CITY PLUM IS NOT A PLUM

  YOUR BROTHER HAS A FALCON

  HEAR WHAT THE MOURNFUL LINNETS SAY

  A BABY’S CRADLE WITH NO BABY IN IT

  HOP-O’-MY-THUMB AND LITTLE JACK HORNER

  HOPE IS LIKE A HAREBELL TREMBLING FROM ITS BIRTH

  O WIND, WHY DO YOU NEVER REST

  CRYING, MY LITTLE ONE, FOOTSORE AND WEARY?

  GROWING IN THE VALE

  A LINNET IN A GILDED CAGE

  WRENS AND ROBINS IN THE HEDGE

  MY BABY HAS A MOTTLED FIST

  WHY DID BABY DIE

  IF ALL WERE RAIN AND NEVER SUN

  O WIND, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN

  ON THE GRASSY BANKS

  RUSHES IN A WATERY PLACE

  MINNIE AND MATTIE

  HEARTSEASE IN MY GARDEN BED

  IF I WERE A QUEEN

  WHAT ARE HEAVY? SEA-SAND AND SORROW

  THERE IS BUT ONE MAY IN THE YEAR

  THE SUMMER NIGHTS ARE SHORT

  THE DAYS ARE CLEAR

  TWIST ME A CROWN OF WIND-FLOWERS

  BROWN AND FURRY