Or did their green perfection stand
Unmoved beneath the perfect skies? —
Paradise was rapt on high,
It lies before the gate of Heaven: —
Eve now slumbers there forgiven,
Slumbers Rachel comforted,
Slumber all the blessed dead
Of days and months and years gone by,
A solemn swelling company.
They wait for us beneath the trees
Of Paradise that lap of ease:
They wait for us, till God shall please.
Oh come the day of death, that day
Of rest which cannot pass away:
When the last work is wrought, the last
Pang of pain is felt and past
And the blessed door made fast.
TO THE END
There are lilies for her sisters —
(Who so cold as they?) —
And heartsease for one I must not name
When I am far away.
I shall pluck the lady lilies
And fancy all the rest;
I shall pluck the bright eyed heartsease
For her sake I love the best,
As I wander on with weary feet
Toward the twilight shadowy west.
Oh bird that fliest eastward
Unto that sunny land
Oh wilt thou ‘light on lilies white
Beside her whiter hand?
Soft summer wind that breathest
Of perfumes and sweet spice,
Ah tell her what I dare not tell
Of watchful waiting eyes
Of love that yet may meet again
In distant Paradise.
I go from earth to Heaven
A dim uncertain road,
A houseless pilgrim thro’ the world
Unto a sure abode:
While evermore an Angel
Goes with me day and night,
A ministering spirit
From the land of light,
My holy fellow servant sent
To guide my steps aright.
I wonder if the Angels
Love with such love as our’s,
If for each other’s sake they pluck
And keep eternal flowers.
Alone I am and weary,
Alone yet not alone:
Her soul talks with me by the way
From tedious stone to stone,
A blessed Angel treads with me
The awful paths unknown.
When will the long road end in rest,
The sick bird perch and brood?
When will my Guardian fold his wings
At rest in the finished good? —
Lulling lulling me off to sleep:
While death’s strong hand doth roll
My sins behind His back,
And my life up like a scroll,
Till thro’ sleep I hear kind Angels
Rejoicing at the goal.
If her spirit went before me
Up from night to day,
It would pass me like the lightning
That kindles on its way.
I should feel it like the lightning
Flashing fresh from Heaven:
I should long for Heaven sevenfold more,
Yea and sevenfold seven;
Should pray as I have not prayed before,
And strive as I have not striven.
She will learn new love in Heaven
Who is so full of love,
She will learn new depths of tenderness
Who is tender like a dove.
Her heart will no more sorrow,
Her eyes will weep no more:
Yet it may be she will yearn
And look back from far before:
Lingering on the golden threshold
And leaning from the door.
ZION SAID
O Slain for love of me, canst Thou be cold,
Be cold and far away in my distress:
Is Thy love also changed growing less and less
That carried me thro’ all the days of old? —
O Slain for love of me, O Love untold,
See how I flag and fail thro’ weariness:
I flag, while sleepless foes dog me and press
On me; behold O Lord, O Love behold.
I am sick for home, the home of love indeed;
I am sick for Love, that dearest name for Thee:
Thou Who hast bled, see how my heart doth bleed;
Open Thy bleeding Side and let me in;
Oh hide me in Thy Heart from doubt and sin,
Oh take me to Thyself and comfort me.
MAY
Sweet Life is dead. —
Not so:
I meet him day by day,
Where bluest fountains flow
And trees are white as snow
For it is time of May.
Even now from long ago
He will not say me nay;
He is most fair to see;
And if I wander forth, I know
He wanders forth with me.
But Life is dead to me;
The worn-out year was failing
West winds took up a wailing
To watch his funeral:
Bare poplars shivered tall
And lank vines stretched to see;
‘Twixt him and me a wall
Was frozen of earth like stone
With brambles overgrown;
Chill darkness wrapped him like a pall
And I am left alone.
How can you call him dead?
He buds out everywhere:
In every hedgerow rank,
On every mossgrown bank
I find him here and there.
He crowns my willing head
With may flowers white and red,
He rears my tender heartsease bed;
He makes my branch to bud and bear,
And blossoms where I tread.
RIVER THAMES (?)
There are rivers lapsing down
Lily-laden to the sea;
Every lily is a boat
For bees, one, two, or three:
I wish there were a fairy boat
For you, my friend, and me.
We would rock upon the river,
Scarcely floating by;
Rocking rocking like the lilies,
You, my friend, and I;
Rocking like the stately lilies
Beneath the statelier sky.
But ah, where is that river
Whose hyacinth banks descend
Down to the sweeter lilies,
Till soft their shadows blend
Into a watery twilight? —
And ah, where is my friend? —
A CHILLY NIGHT
I rose at the dead of night
And went to the lattice alone
To look for my Mother’s ghost
Where the ghostly moonlight shone.
My friends had failed one by one,
Middleaged, young, and old,
Till the ghosts were warmer to me
Than my friends that had grown cold.
I looked and I saw the ghosts
Dotting plain and mound:
They stood in the blank moonlight
But no shadow lay on the ground;
They spoke without a voice
And they leapt without a sound.
I called: “O my Mother dear,” —
I sobbed: “O my Mother kind,
Make a lonely bed for me
And shelter it from the wind:
“Tell the others not to come
To see me night or day;
But I need not tell my friends
To be sure to keep away.”
My Mother raised her eyes,
They were blank and could not see;
Yet they held me with their stare
While they seemed to look at me.
She opened her mouth and spoke,
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bsp; I could not hear a word
While my flesh crept on my bones
And every hair was stirred.
She knew that I could not hear
The message that she told
Whether I had long to wait
Or soon should sleep in the mould:
I saw her toss her shadowless hair
And wring her hands in the cold.
I strained to catch her words
And she strained to make me hear,
But never a sound of words
Fell on my straining ear.
From midnight to the cockcrow
I kept my watch in pain
While the subtle ghosts grew subtler
In the sad night on the wane.
From midnight to the cockcrow
I watched till all were gone,
Some to sleep in the shifting sea
And some under turf and stone:
Living had failed and dead had failed
And I was indeed alone.
LET PATIENCE HAVE HER PERFECT WORK
I saw a bird alone,
In its nest it sat alone,
For its mate was dead or flown
Tho’ it was early spring.
Hard by were buds half blown,
With cornfields freshly sown;
It could only perch and moan
That used to sing:
Droop in sorrow left alone
A sad sad thing.
I saw a star alone,
In blue heaven it hung alone,
A solitary throne
In the waste of space:
Where no moon glories are,
Where not a second star
Beams thro’ night from near or far
To that lone place.
Its beauties all unknown,
Its glories all alone
Sad in heaven’s face.
Doth the bird desire a mate,
Pine for a second mate
Whose first joy was so great
With its own dove?
Doth the star supreme in night
Desire a second light
To make it seem less bright
In the shrine of heavenly height
That is above? —
Ah, better wait alone,
In nest or heaven alone,
Forsaken or unknown;
Till time being past and gone
Full eternity rolls on,
While patience reaps what it has sown
In the harvest land of love.
A MARTYR
It is over the horrible pain,
All is over the struggle and doubt,
She’s asleep tho’ her friends stand and weep,
She’s asleep while the multitudes shout,
Not to wake to her anguish again
Not to wake until death is cast out.
Stoop, look at the beautiful face,
See the smile on the satisfied mouth,
The hands crost — she hath conquered not lost,
She hath drunk who was fevered with drouth.
She shall sleep in her safe restingplace
While the hawk spreads her wings toward the south.
She shall sleep while slow seasons are given,
While daylight and darkness go round;
Her heart is at rest in its nest;
Her body at rest in the ground:
She has travelled the long road to heaven,
She sought it and now she has found.
Will you follow the track that she trod,
Will you tread in her footsteps, my friend?
That pathway is rough but enough
Are the light and the balm that attend.
Do I tread in her steps, O my God,
Shall I joy with her joy in the end?
IN THE LANE
When my love came home to me
Pleasant Summer bringing
Every tree was out in leaf
Every bird was singing
Every red rose burst the bud
On its bramble springing.
There I met her in the lane
By those waters gleamy,
Met her toward the fall of day
Warm and dear and dreamy;
Did I loiter in the lane?
None was there to see me.
Only roses in the hedge
Lilies on the river
Saw our greeting fast and fond,
Counted gift and giver,
Saw me take her to my home
Take her home for ever.
ACME
Sleep, unforgotten sorrow, sleep awhile;
Make even awhile as tho’ I might forget,
Let the wound staunch thy tedious fingers fret
Till once again I look abroad and smile
Warmed in the sunlight: let no tears defile
This hour’s content, no conscious thorns beset
My path; O sorrow slumber, slumber yet
A moment, rouse not yet the smouldering pile.
So shalt thou wake again with added strength
O unforgotten sorrow, stir again
The slackening fire, refine the lulling pain
To quickened torture and a subtler edge:
The wrung cord snaps at last; beneath the wedge
The toughest oak groans long but rends at length.
A BED OF FORGET-ME-NOTS
Is love so prone to change and rot
We are fain to rear forget-me-not
By measure in a garden plot? —
I love its growth at large and free
By untrod path and unlopped tree,
Or nodding by the unpruned hedge,
Or on the water’s dangerous edge
Where flags and meadowsweet blow rank
With rushes on the quaking bank.
Love is not taught in learning’s school,
Love is not parceled out by rule;
Hath curb or call an answer got? —
So free must be forget-me-not.
Give me the flame no dampness dulls,
The passion of the instinctive pulse,
Love steadfast as a fixèd star,
Tender as doves with nestlings are,
More large than time, more strong than death:
This all creation travails of —
She groans not for a passing breath —
This is forget-me-not and love.
THE CHIEFEST AMONG TEN THOUSAND
When sick of life and all the world,
How sick of all the earth but Thee,
I lift mine eyes up to the hills,
Eyes of my heart that truly see:
I see beyond all death and ills
Refreshing green for heart and eyes;
The golden streets and gateways pearled,
The living trees of paradise.
Oh that a dove’s white wings I had
To flee away from this distress
For Thou art in the wilderness
Drawing and leading Thine Own love:
Wherefore it blossoms like a rose,
The solitary place is glad;
There sounds the soft voice of the dove
And there the spicy south wind blows.
Draw us, we will run after Thee;
Call us by name, the name we know;
Call her beloved who was not so,
Beulah and blessed Hephzibah:
That where Thou art I too may be
Bride of the Bridegroom heart to heart;
Thou God, my Love, the Fairest art
Where all things fair and lovely are.
From north and south from east and west
Thy sons and daughters all shall flock
Who built their house upon the Rock
And eagle-like renew their strength:
How glad and glorious is their rest
Whom Thou hast purged from fleshly scum, —
The long-desired is come at length,
The fulness of the time is come.
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br /> Then the new heavens and earth shall be
Where righteousness shall dwell indeed:
There shall be no more blight nor need
Nor barrier of the tossing sea;
No sun and moon alternating
For God shall be the Light thereof,
No sorrow more no death no sting
For God shall reign and God is Love.
LOOK ON THIS PICTURE AND ON THIS
I wish we once were wedded, — then I must be true;
You should hold my will in yours to do or to undo:
But now I hate myself Eva when I look at you.
You have seen her hazel eyes, her warm dark skin,
Dark hair — but oh those hazel eyes a devil is dancing in: —
You my saint lead up to heaven she lures down to sin.
Listen Eva I repent, indeed I do my love:
How should I choose a peacock and leave and grieve a dove? —
If I could turn my back on her and follow you above.
No it’s not her beauty bloomed like an autumn peach,
Not her pomp of beauty too high for me to reach;
It’s her eyes, her witching manner — ah the lore they teach
You are winning, well I know it, who should know but I?
You constrain me, I must yield or else must hasten by: —
But she, she fascinates me, I can neither fight nor fly.
She’s so redundant, stately; — in truth now have you seen
Ever anywhere such beauty, such a stature, such a mien?
She may be queen of devils but she’s every inch a queen.
If you sing to me, I hear her subtler sweeter still
Whispering in each tender cadence strangely sweet to fill
All that lacks in music all my soul and sense and will.
If you dance, tho’ mine eyes follow where my hand I gave
I only see her presence like a sunny wave
I only feel her presence like a wind too strong to rave.
If we talk: I love you, do you love me again? —
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti Page 68