And there I fain would die.
There Autumn leaves may make my grave,
And little birds sing over it;
And there cool twilight winds may flit
And shadowy branches wave.
IMMALEE
/See Maturin’s “Melmoth.”/
Sonnet.
I gather thyme upon the sunny hills,
And its pure fragrance ever gladdens me,
And in my mind having tranquillity
I smile to see how my green basket fills.
And by clear streams I gather daffodils;
And in dim woods find out the cherry-tree,
And take its fruit, and the wild strawberry,
And nuts, and honey; and live free from ills.
I dwell on the green earth, ‘neath the blue sky,
Birds are my friends, and leaves my rustling roof;
The deer are not afraid of me, and I
Hear the wild goat, and hail its hastening hoof;
The squirrels sit perked as I pass them by,
And even the watchful hare stands not aloof.
LADY ISABELLA
Heart warm as Summer, fresh as Spring,
Gracious as Autumn’s harvesting,
Pure as the Winter snows; as white
A hand as lilies in sun-light;
Eyes glorious as a midnight star;
Hair shining as the chestnuts are;
A step firm and majestical;
A voice singing and musical;
A soft expression, kind address;
Tears for another’s heaviness;
Bright looks; an action full of grace;
A perfect form, a perfect face;
All these become a woman well,
And these had Lady Isabelle.
NIGHT AND DEATH
Now the sun-lit hours are o’er,
Rise up from thy shadowy shore,
Happy Night, whom Chaos bore.
Better is the peaceful treasure
Of thy musings without measure,
Than the day’s unquiet pleasure.
Bring the holy moon; so pale
She herself seems but a veil
For the sun, where no clouds sail.
Bring the stars, thy progeny;
Each a little lamp on high
To light up an azure sky.
Sounds incomprehensible
In the shining planets dwell
Of thy sister Queen to tell.
Of that sister Nature saith,
She hath power o’er life and breath;
And her name is written Death.
She is fairer far than thou;
Grief her head can never bow,
Joy is stamped upon her brow.
She is full of gentleness,
And of faith and hope; distress
Finds in her forgetfulness.
In her arms who lieth down
Never more is seen to frown,
Tho’ he wore a thorny crown.
Whoso sigheth in unrest
If his head lean on her breast
Witnesseth she is the best.
All the riches of the earth
Weighed by her are nothing worth;
She is the eternal birth.
In her treasure-house are found
Stored abundantly around
Almsdeeds done without a sound;
Long forbearance; patient will;
Fortitude in midst of ill;
Hope, when even fear grew still;
Kindness given again for hate;
Hearts resigned tho’ desolate;
Meekness, which is truly great;
Bitter tears of penitence;
Changeless love’s omnipotence: —
And nought lacketh recompense.
In her house no tainted thing
Winneth any entering;
There the poor have comforting.
There they wait a little time
Till the angel-uttered chime
Sound the eternal matin-prime.
Then, upraised in joyfulness,
They shall know her; and confess
She is blessed and doth bless.
When earth’s fleeting day is flown
All created things shall own,
Death is Life, and Death alone.
YOUNG MEN AYE WERE FICKLE FOUND SINCE SUMMER TREES WERE LEAFY
Go in peace my Beloved; tho’ never again
Shall I feel in thy presence strange joy and sweet pain;
Go in peace my Beloved; perhaps thou may’st yet
Find a young heart to love thee that need not forget.
In glory and beauty and smiles thou shalt go,
And I shall remain in my wearisome woe.
Oh! thine is the rose on a bright summer morn
Full of perfume and blushes; — and mine is the thorn.
And thine is the sun-light, and mine is the cloud;
And thine is the feasting, and mine is the shroud.
And thou shalt have gladness and honor’s increase;
And I in my cool silent grave shall have peace.
But so it is fitting, and so let it be;
The praise be thy portion, the shame be for me.
Ah! why should I chide thee and struggle in vain?
For love, once recalled, is not given again.
Thy word is forgotten, and broken thy vow;
If I pray or reproach thee thou heedest not now.
I would I could hate thee, false love; but in truth
How can I abhor the delight of my youth?
Oh! happy the maiden whose beautiful strength
Shall win thy proud heart and subdue it at length!
Yet tho’ she be true, what hath she more than I?
She may live but for thee, and for thee I shall die.
The faith which endures and is mighty in death
Is more real, to my thinking, than words which are breath.
There are many fair women will court thee and live;
But who, broken-hearted, will die and forgive?
By the love that I bear thee, the hopes that are flown,
The heart that lies bleeding, the life left alone, —
Remember, remember the dear vanished time,
In thy far-distant country and sun-gladdened clime.
THE LOTUS-EATERS
Ulysses to Penelope.
In a far-distant land they dwell,
Incomprehensible,
Who love the shadow more than light,
More than the sun the moon,
Cool evening more than noon,
Pale silver more than gold that glitters bright.
A dark cloud overhangs their land
Like a mighty hand,
Never moving from above it;
A cool shade and moist and dim,
With a twilight-purple rim,
And they love it.
And sometimes it giveth rain,
But soon it ceaseth as before,
And earth drieth up again;
Then the dews rise more and more,
Till it filleth, dropping o’er;
But no forked lightnings flit,
And no thunders roll in it.
Thro’ the land a river flows;
With a sleepy sound it goes;
Such a drowsy noise, in sooth,
Those who will not listen, hear not;
But if one is wakeful, fear not;
It shall lull him to repose,
Bringing back the dream’s of youth.
Hemlock groweth, poppy bloweth
In the fields where no man moweth;
And the vine is full of wine
And are full of milk the kine,
And the hares are all secure,
And the birds are wild no more,
And the forest-trees wax old,
And winds stir, or hot, or cold,
And yet no man taketh care,
All things resting everywhere.
SONN
ET: FROM THE PSALMS
All thro’ the livelong night I lay awake
Watering my couch with tears of heaviness.
None stood beside me in my sore distress; —
Then cried I to my heart: If thou wilt, break,
But be thou still; no moaning will I make,
Nor ask man’s help, nor kneel that he may bless.
So I kept silence in my haughtiness,
Till lo! the fire was kindled, and I spake
Saying: Oh that I had wings like to a dove,
Then would I flee away and be at rest:
I would not pray for friends, or hope, or love,
But still the weary throbbing of my breast;
And, gazing on the changeless heavens above,
Witness that such a quietness is best.
SONG: THE STREAM MOANETH AS IT FLOWETH
The stream moaneth as it floweth,
The wind sigheth as it bloweth,
Leaves are falling, Autumn goeth,
Winter cometh back again;
And the air is very chilly,
And the country rough and hilly,
And I shiver in the rain.
Who will help me? Who will love me?
Heaven sets forth no light above me;
Ancient memories reprove me,
Long-forgotten feelings move me,
I am full of heaviness.
Earth is cold, too cold the sea;
Whither shall I turn and flee?
Is there any hope for me?
Any ease for my heart-aching?
Any sleep that hath no waking?
Any night without day-breaking?
Any rest from weariness?
Hark! the wind is answering:
Hark! the running stream replieth:
There is rest for him that dieth;
In the grave whoever lieth
Nevermore hath sorrowing.
Holy slumber, holy quiet,
Close the eyes and still the riot;
And the brain forgets its thought,
And the heart forgets its beating. —
Earth and earthly things are fleeting,
There is what all men have sought;
Long, unchangeable repose,
Lulling us from many woes.
A COUNSEL
Oh weep for the glory departed
That comes not again;
And weep for the friends hollow-hearted
Ye cared for in vain;
And weep for the roses that perished
Ere Summer had fled;
For hopes that ye vainly have cherished; —
But not for the dead.
Nay mourn not for them: they have ended
All labors and woes;
Their hopes now of glory are blended
With perfect repose.
And tell me, this thing that is given,
Shall it not suffice?
They wait for the gladness of Heaven,
And have Paradise.
THE WORLD’S HARMONIES
Oh listen, listen; for the Earth
Hath silent melody;
Green grasses are her lively chords,
And blossoms; and each tree,
Chestnut and oak and sycamore,
Makes solemn harmony.
Oh listen, listen; for the Sea
Is calling unto us;
Her notes are the broad liquid waves
Mighty and glorious.
Lo, the first man and the last man
Hath heard, shall hearken thus.
The Sun on which men cannot look
Its splendor is so strong;
Which wakeneth life and giveth life
Rolling in light along,
From day-dawn to dim eventide
Sings the eternal song.
And the Moon taketh up the hymn,
And the Stars answer all;
And all the Clouds and all the Winds
And all the Dews that fall
And Frost and fertilizing Rain
Are mutely musical.
Fishes and Beasts and feathered Fowl
Swell the eternal chant,
That riseth through the lower air,
Over the rainbow slant,
Up through the unseen palace-gates,
Fearlessly jubilant.
Before the everlasting Throne
It is acceptable;
It hath no pause or faltering;
The Angels know it well;
Yea, in the highest heaven of heavens
Its sound is audible.
Yet than the voice of the whole World
There is a sweeter voice,
That maketh all the Cherubim
And Seraphim rejoice;
That all the blessèd Spirits hail
With undivided choice;
That crieth at the golden door
And gaineth entrance in;
That the palm-branch and radiant crown
And glorious throne may win; —
The lowly prayer of a poor man
Who turneth from his sin.
LINES: GIVEN WITH A PENWIPER
I have compassion on the carpeting,
And on your back I have compassion too.
The splendid Brussels web is suffering
In the dimmed lustre of each glowing hue;
And you the everlasting altering
Of your position with strange aches must rue.
Behold, I come the carpet to preserve,
And save your spine from a continual curve.
THE LAST ANSWER
She turned round to me with her steadfast eyes:
“I tell you I have looked upon the dead;
“Have kissed the brow and the cold lips;” she said;
“Have called upon the sleeper to arise;
“He loved me, yet he stirred not; on this wise,
“Not bowing in weak agony my head,
“But all too sure of what life is, to dread,
“Learned I that love and hope are fallacies.”
She gazed quite calmly on me; and I felt
Awed and astonished and almost afraid:
For what was I to have admonished her?
Then, being full of doubt and fear, I knelt,
And tears came to my eyes even as I prayed:
But she, meanwhile, only grew statelier.
ONE OF THE DEAD
Paler, not quite so fair as in her life,
She lies upon the bed, perfectly still;
Her little hands clasped with a patient will
Upon her bosom, swelling without strife;
An honored virgin, a most blameless wife.
The roses lean upon the window sill,
That she trained once; their sweets the hot air fill,
And make the death-apartment odour-rife.
Her meek white hands folded upon her breast,
Her gentle eyes closed in the long last sleep,
She lieth down in her unbroken rest;
Her kin, kneeling around, a vigil keep,
Venting their grief in low sobs unrepressed: —
Friends, she but slumbers, wherefore do ye weep?
THE WHOLE HEAD IS SICK, AND THE WHOLE HEART FAINT
Woe for the young who say that life is long,
Who turn from the sun-rising to the west,
Who feel no pleasure and can find no rest,
Who in the morning sigh for evensong.
Their hearts weary because of this world’s wrong,
Yearn with a thousand longings unexpressed;
They have a wound no mortal ever drest,
An ill than all earth’s remedies more strong.
For them the fount of gladness hath run dry,
And in all nature is no pleasant thing;
For them there is no glory in the sky,
No sweetness in the breezes’ murmuring;
They say: The peace of heaven is placed too high,
And this earth changeth and
is perishing.
I DO SET MY BOW IN THE CLOUD
The roses bloom too late for me;
The violets I shall not see;
Even the snowdrops will not come
Till I have passed from home to home;
From home on earth to home in heaven,
Here penitent and there forgiven.
Mourn not, my Father, that I seek
One Who is strong when I am weak.
Through the dark passage, verily,
His rod and staff shall comfort me;
He shall support me in the strife
Of death, that dieth into life;
He shall support me; He receive
My soul when I begin to live,
And more than I can ask for give.
He from the heaven-gates built above
Hath looked on me in perfect love.
From the heaven-walls to me He calls
To come and dwell within those walls;
With Cherubim and Seraphim
And Angels; yea, beholding Him.
His care for me is more than mine,
Father; His love is more than thine.
Sickness and death I have from thee,
From Him have immortality.
He giveth gladness where He will,
Yet chasteneth His belovèd still.
Then tell me; is it not enough
To feel that when the path is rough,
And the sky dark, and the rain cold,
His promise standeth as of old?
When heaven and earth have passed away,
Only His righteous word shall stay,
And we shall know His will is best.
Behold; He is a Haven Rest,
A Sheltering Rock, a Hiding Place,
For runners steadfast in the race;
Who, toiling for a little space,
Had light through faith when sight grew dim,
And offered all their world to Him.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti Page 59