Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti

by Christina Rossetti

  Who gave thee power to take away his life?

  Oh deeply-rooted direful enmity

  That ended in long strife!

  See where he grasped thy mantle as he fell,

  Staining it with his blood; how terrible

  Must be the payment due for this in hell!

  And dost thou think to go and see no more

  Thy bleeding victim, now the struggle’s o’er?

  To find out peace in other lands,

  And wash the red mark from thy hands?

  It shall not be; for everywhere

  He shall be with thee; and the air

  Shall smell of blood, and on the wind

  His groans pursue thee close behind.

  When waking he shall stand before thee;

  And when at length sleep shall come o’er thee,

  Powerless to move, alive to dream,

  So dreadful shall thy visions seem

  That thou shalt own them even to be

  More hateful than reality

  What time thou stoopest down to drink

  Of limpid waters, thou shalt think

  It is thy foe’s blood bubbles up

  From the polluted fountain’s cup,

  That stains thy lip, that cries to Heaven

  For vengeance — and it shall be given.

  And when thy friends shall question thee,

  “Why art thou changed so heavily?”

  Trembling and fearful thou shalt say

  “I am not changed,” and turn away;

  For such an outcast shalt thou be

  Thou wilt not dare ask sympathy.

  And so thy life will pass, and day by day

  The current of existence flow away;

  And though to thee earth shall be hell, and breath

  Vengeance, yet thou shalt tremble more at death.

  And one by one thy friends will learn to fear thee,

  And thou shalt live without a hope to cheer thee;

  Lonely amid a thousand, chained though free,

  The curse of memory shall cling to thee:

  Ages may pass away, worlds rise and set —

  But thou shalt not forget.

  SIR EUSTACE GREY

  See Crabbe.

  When I die, oh lay me low

  Where the greenest grasses grow;

  Where the happy stream meanders;

  Where the deer securely wanders;

  Where the sweet birds sit and sing

  In the branches quivering;

  Where the violets spring to die,

  And the breezes passing by,

  Laden with their fragrant breath,

  Scarcely seem to tell of death;

  Where the sun can dart no ray

  In the noon-tide of his day;

  Where upon the fertile ground

  Broods an everlasting shade,

  And a strange, mysterious sound

  By the rustling boughs is made,

  And all’s quiet, meet for one

  Whose long, toilsome race is run.

  O’er my grave the turf extend,

  But beside me lay no friend,

  And above me place no stone;

  I would lie there all alone,

  Unremembered or unknown.

  Soon forgotten, none will taunt me;

  Soon forgetting, none will haunt me

  Of the ghosts of former pleasures

  Meted out with scanty measures.

  Resting from all human passion,

  From earth’s hate and its compassion,

  From its hope and fear, from love

  Steadfast as the stars above,

  That shine clearly down for ever

  On some cold, unglowing river;

  By my faith and hope sure lighted

  Through the darkness of the tomb;

  And by Heavenly Love requited

  For whatever love was slighted,

  And whatever joy was blighted

  By earth’s coldness and its gloom,

  In the grave I’ll rest secure

  Till the appointed time is o’er,

  And the work of love is done,

  And the great sin; and the sun

  Sets in night to rise no more.

  What is life but toil and riot?

  What is death but rest and quiet?

  Life is but a dream of trouble,

  Death calm sleep from visions free;

  Life is but a bursting bubble,

  Death is immortality.

  THE TIME OF WAITING

  Life is fleeting, joy is fleeting,

  Coldness follows love and greeting,

  Parting still succeeds to meeting.

  If I say, “Rejoice today,”

  Sorrow meets me in the way,

  I cannot my will obey.

  If I say, “My grief shall cease;

  Now then I will live in peace:”

  My cares instantly increase.

  When I look up to the sky,

  Thinking to see light on high,

  Clouds my searching glance defy.

  When I look upon the earth

  For the flowers that should have birth,

  I find dreariness and dearth.

  And the wind sighs on forever,

  Murmurs still the flowing river,

  On the graves the sun-beams quiver.

  And destruction waxes bold,

  And the earth is growing old,

  And I tremble in the cold.

  And my weariness increases

  To an ache that never ceases,

  And a pain that ne’er decreases.

  And the times are turbulent,

  And the Holy Church is rent,

  And who tremble or repent?

  And loud cries do ever rise

  To the portals of the skies

  From our earthly miseries;

  From love slighted, not requited;

  From high hope that should have lighted

  All our path up, now benighted;

  From the woes of human kind;

  From the darkness of the mind;

  From all anguish undefined;

  From the heart that’s crushed and sinking;

  From the brain grown blank with thinking;

  From the spirit sorrow drinking.

  All cry out with pleading strong:

  “Vengeance, Lord; how long, how long

  Shall we suffer this great wrong?”

  And the pleading and the cry

  Of earth’s sons are heard on high,

  And are noted verily.

  When this world shall be no more,

  The Oppressors shall endure

  The great Vengeance, which is sure.

  And the sinful shall remain

  To an endless death and pain;

  But the good shall live again,

  Never more to be oppressed;

  Balm shall heal the bleeding breast,

  And the weary be at rest.

  All shall vanish of dejection,

  Grief, and fear, and imperfection,

  In that glorious Resurrection.

  Heed not then a night of sorrow,

  If the dawning of the morrow

  From past grief fresh beams shall borrow.

  Thankful for whate’er is given,

  Strive we, as we ne’er have striven,

  For love’s sake to be forgiven.

  Then, the dark clouds opening,

  Ev’n to us the sun shall bring

  Gladness; and sweet flowers shall spring.

  For Christ’s guiding Love alway,

  For the everlasting Day,

  For meek patience, let us pray.

  CHARITY

  I praised the myrtle and the rose,

  At sunrise in their beauty vying;

  I passed them at the short day’s close,

  And both were dying.

  The summer sun his rays was throwing

  Brightly; yet ere I sought my rest,

  His last cold ray, mor
e deeply glowing,

  Died in the west.

  After this bleak world’s stormy weather,

  All, all, save Love alone, shall die;

  For Faith and Hope shall merge together

  In Charity.

  THE DEAD BRIDE

  There she lay so still and pale,

  With her bridal robes around her:

  Joy is fleeting — life is frail —

  Death had found her.

  Gone forever: gone away

  From the love and light of earth;

  Gone forever: who shall say

  Where her second birth?

  Had her life been good and kind?

  Had her heart been meek and pure?

  Was she of a lowly mind,

  Ready to endure?

  Did she still console the sad,

  Soothe the widow’s anguish wild,

  Make the poor and needy glad,

  Tend the orphan child?

  Who shall say what hope and fear

  Crowded in her short life’s span?

  If the love of God was dear,

  Or the love of man?

  Happy bride if single-hearted

  Her first love to God was given;

  If from this world she departed

  But to dwell in Heaven;

  If her faith on Heaven was fixed,

  And her hope; if love’s pure worth

  Made her rich indeed, unmixed

  With the dross of earth.

  But alas! if tainted pleasure

  Won her heart and held it here,

  Where is now her failing treasure,

  All her gladness where? … . .

  Hush, too curious questioner;

  Hush and think thine own sins o’er:

  Little canst thou learn from her;

  For we know no more

  Than that there she lies all pale

  With her bridal robes around her:

  Joy is fleeting — life is frail —

  Death hath found her.

  LIFE OUT OF DEATH

  “Now I’ve said all I would, mother;

  My head is on thy breast,

  And I feel I can die without a sigh,

  And sink into my rest.

  “And if ever you weep o’er my grave, mother,

  Weep not for doubt or sadness;

  I shall fall asleep in pain and in grief,

  But wake to perfect gladness.”

  Mourn not, thou mother of the dead,

  That in her youth she died;

  for He was with her then Who said:

  “Ye that in me abide,

  Ask what ye will, it shall be given;

  Faith, hope, and love on earth, and Love and Joy in Heaven.”

  THE SOLITARY ROSE

  O happy Rose, red Rose, that bloomest lonely

  Where there are none to gather while they love thee;

  That art perfumed by thine own fragrance only,

  Resting like incense round thee and above thee; —

  Thou hearest nought save some pure stream that flows,

  O happy Rose.

  What tho’ for thee no nightingales are singing?

  They chant one eve, but hush them in the morning.

  Near thee no little moths and bees are winging

  To steal thy honey when the day is dawning; —

  Thou keep’st thy sweetness till the twilight’s close,

  O happy Rose.

  Then rest in peace, thou lone and lovely flower;

  Yea be thou glad, knowing that none are near thee

  To mar thy beauty in a wanton hour,

  And scatter all thy leaves, nor deign to wear thee.

  Securely in thy solitude repose,

  O happy Rose.

  LADY ISABELLA

  Lady Isabella,

  Thou art gone away,

  Leaving earth’s darksome trouble,

  To rest until the Day.

  From thy youth and beauty,

  From each loving friend,

  Thou art gone to the land of sure repose,

  Where fears and sorrows end.

  Thou wert pure whilst with us;

  Now, we trust, in Heaven,

  All thy tears are wiped away,

  All thy sins forgiven.

  Who would wish thee back again

  But to share our sorrow?

  Who would grudge thine hour of rest,

  Ere the coming morrow?

  Let us rejoice the rather

  That thou hast reached that shore,

  Whilst yet thy soul was spotless,

  And thy young spirit pure.

  And if thy crown be brighter

  By but one little ray,

  Why wish to dim its lustre? . .

  Oh! rather let us pray

  That when we are most fitted

  We too may pass away.

  THE DREAM

  Rest, rest; the troubled breast

  Panteth evermore for rest: —

  Be it sleep, or be it death,

  Rest is all it coveteth.

  Tell me, dost thou remember the old time

  We sat together by that sunny stream,

  And dreamed our happiness was too sublime

  Only to be a dream?

  Gazing, till steadfast gazing made us blind,

  We watched the fishes leaping at their play;

  Thinking our love too tender and too kind

  Ever to pass away.

  And some of all our thoughts were true at least

  What time we thought together by that stream;

  THY happiness has evermore increased, —

  MY love was not a dream.

  And now that thou art gone, I often sit

  On its green margin, for thou once wert there;

  And see the clouds that, floating over it,

  Darken the quiet air.

  Yes, oftentimes I sit beside it now,

  Harkning the wavelets ripple o’er the sands;

  Until again I hear thy whispered vow

  And feel thy pressing hands.

  Then the bright sun seems to stand still in heaven,

  The stream sings gladly as it onward flows,

  The rushes grow more green, the grass more even,

  Blossoms the budding rose.

  I say: “It is a joy-dream; I will take it;

  He is not gone; he will return to me.”

  What found’st thou in my heart that thou should’st break it? —

  How have I injured thee?

  Oh! I am weary of life’s passing show, —

  Its pageant and its pain.

  I would I could lie down lone in my woe,

  Ne’er to rise up again;

  I would I could lie down where none might know;

  For truly love is vain.

  Truly love’s vain; but oh! how vainer still

  Is that which is not love, but seems;

  Concealed indifference, a covered ill,

  A very dream of dreams.

  THE DYING MAN TO HIS BETROTHED

  One word — ’tis all I ask of thee;

  One word — and that is little now

  That I have learned thy wrong of me;

  And thou too art unfaithful — thou! —

  O thou sweet poison, sweetest death,

  O honey between serpent’s teeth,

  Breathe on me with thy scorching breath!

  The last poor hope is fleeting now,

  And with it life is ebbing fast;

  I gaze upon thy cold white brow,

  And loathe and love thee to the last.

  And still thou keepest silence — still

  Thou look’st on me — for good or ill

  Speak out, that I may know thy will.

  Thou weepest, woman, and art pale!

  Weep not, for thou shalt soon be free;

  My life is ending like a tale

  That was — but never more shall be.

  O blessed moments, ye fleet fast,

&
nbsp; And soon the latest shall be past,

  And she will be content at last.

  Nay, tremble not — I have not cursed

  Thy house or mine, or thee or me;

  The moment that I saw thee first,

  The moment that I first loved thee,

  Curse them! alas! — I can but bless,

  In this mine hour of heaviness; —

  Nay, sob not so in thy distress!

  I have been harsh, thou sayst of me; —

  God knows my heart was never so;

  It never could be so to thee —

  And now it is too late — I know

  Thy grief — forgive me, love! ‘tis o’er,

  For I shall never trouble more

  Thy life that was so calm before.

  I pardon thee — mayst thou be blest!

  Say, wilt thou sometimes think of me?

  Oh may I, from my happy rest,

  Still look with love on thine and thee,

  And may I pray for thee alway,

  And for thy Love still may I pray,

  Waiting the everlasting Day.

  Stoop over me — ah! this is death!

  I scarce can see thee at my side;

  Stoop lower — let me feel thy breath,

  O thou, mine own, my promised bride!

  Pardon me, love — I pardon thee,

  And may our pardon sealèd be

  Throughout the long eternity.

  The pains of death my senses cover: —

  Oh! for His Sake Who died for men,

  Be thou more true to this thy lover

  Than thou hast been to me — Amen!

  And if he chide thee wrongfully,

  One little moment think on me,

  And thou wilt bear it patiently.

  And now, O God, I turn to Thee:

  Thou Only, Father, canst not fail;