Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti

by Christina Rossetti

  THE ROSE WITH SUCH A BONNY BLUSH

  THE RUINED CROSS

  THE SINNER’S OWN FAULT? SO IT WAS

  THE SOLITARY ROSE

  THE SONG OF THE STAR

  THE SPRING IS COME AGAIN NOT AS AT FIRST

  THE SUCCESSION OF KINGS

  THE SUMMER IS ENDED

  THE SUMMER NIGHTS ARE SHORT

  THE THREAD OF LIFE

  THE THREE ENEMIES

  THE TIME OF WAITING

  THE TREES’ COUNSELING

  THE TWO ROSSETTIS (BROTHERS THEY)

  THE WATCHERS

  THE WATER SPIRIT’S SONG

  THE WAY OF THE WORLD

  THE WHOLE HEAD IS SICK, AND THE WHOLE HEART FAINT

  THE WILL OF THE LORD BE DONE

  THE WIND HAS SUCH A RAINY SOUND

  THE WORLD

  THE WORLD’S HARMONIES

  THEN I COMMENDED MIRTH

  THEN SHALL YE SHOUT

  THEN THEY THAT FEARED THE LORD SPAKE OFTEN ONE TO ANOTHER

  THEN WHOSE SHALL THOSE THINGS BE?

  THERE IS A BUDDING MORROW IN MIDNIGHT

  THERE IS BUT ONE MAY IN THE YEAR

  THERE IS ONE THAT HAS A HEAD WITHOUT AN EYE

  THERE REMAINETH THEREFORE A REST

  THERE REMAINETH THEREFORE A REST FOR THE PEOPLE OF GOD

  THERE REMAINETH THEREFORE A REST TO THE PEOPLE OF GOD

  THERE’S SNOW ON THE FIELDS

  THESE ALL WAIT UPON THEE

  THEY DESIRE A BETTER COUNTRY

  THEY LIE AT REST, OUR BLESSED DEAD

  THEY PUT THEIR TRUST IN THEE, AND WERE NOT CONFOUNDED

  THEY SHALL BE AS WHITE AS SNOW

  THEY TOIL NOT, NEITHER DO THEY SPIN

  THIS NEAR-AT-HAND LAND BREEDS PAIN BY MEASURE

  THOU ART FAIRER THAN THE CHILDREN OF MEN

  THOU KNEWEST … THOU OUGHTEST THEREFORE

  THOU SLEEPEST WHERE THE LILIES FADE

  THOU, GOD, SEEST ME

  THREE LITTLE CHILDREN

  THREE MOMENTS

  THREE NUNS

  THREE PLUM BUNS

  THREE SEASONS

  THREE STAGES

  THRO’ BURDEN AND HEAT OF THE DAY

  THY BROTHER’S BLOOD CRIETH

  THY FAINTING SPOUSE, YET STILL THY SPOUSE

  THY FRIEND AND THY FATHER’S FRIEND FORGET NOT

  THY LILIES DRINK THE DEW

  THY NAME, O CHRIST, AS INCENSE STREAMING FORTH

  THY SERVANT WILL GO AND FIGHT WITH THIS PHILISTINE

  TILL TOMORROW

  TIME LENGTHENING, IN THE LENGTHENING SEEMETH LONG

  TIME PASSETH AWAY WITH ITS PLEASURE AND PAIN

  TIME SEEMS NOT SHORT

  TO EVERY SEED HIS OWN BODY

  TO LALLA, READING MY VERSES TOPSY-TURVY

  TO MARY ROSSETTI

  TO MY FIOR-DI-LISA

  TO MY FRIEND ELIZABETH

  TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY

  TO THE END

  TO WHAT PURPOSE IS THIS WASTE?

  TODAY FOR ME

  TODAY’S BURDEN

  TOLL, BELL, TOLL. FOR HOPE IS FLYING

  TOUCHING NEVER

  TRINITY SUNDAY

  TRULY THE LIGHT IS SWEET

  TU SCENDI DALE STELE, O RE DEL CIELO

  TUESDAY IN HOLY WEEK

  TUNE ME, O LORD, INTO ONE HARMONY

  TWICE

  TWILIGHT CALM

  TWILIGHT NIGHT

  TWIST ME A CROWN OF WIND-FLOWERS

  TWO PARTED

  TWO PURSUITS

  TWO THOUGHTS OF DEATH

  UDITE, SI DOLGONO MESTI FRINGUELLI

  UNDER THE IVY BUSH

  UNDER WILLOWS

  UNDINE

  UNFORGOTTEN

  UNSPOTTED LAMBS TO FOLLOW THE ONE LAMB

  UNTIL THE DAY BREAK

  UP-HILL

  VANITY OF VANITIES

  VANITY OF VANITIES: AH, WOE IS ME FOR PLEASURE THAT IS VAIN

  VENUS’ LOOKING-GLASS

  VERSI

  VIGIL OF ALL SAINTS

  VIGIL OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW

  VIGIL OF ST. PETER

  VIGIL OF THE ANNUNCIATION

  VIGIL OF THE PRESENTATION

  WAS THY WRATH AGAINST THE SEA?

  WE ARE THOSE WHO TREMBLE AT THY WORD

  WE KNOW NOT WHEN, WE KNOW NOT WHERE

  WEARY IN WELL-DOING

  WEDNESDAY IN HOLY WEEK

  WEE WEE HUSBAND

  WEIGH ALL MY FAULTS AND FOLLIES RIGHTEOUSLY

  WHAT ARE HEAVY? SEA-SAND AND SORROW

  WHAT ARE THESE LOVELY ONES, YEA, WHAT ARE THESE?

  WHAT DO THE STARS DO

  WHAT DOES THE BEE DO?

  WHAT DOES THE DONKEY BRAY ABOUT

  WHAT GOOD SHALL MY LIFE DO ME?

  WHAT GOOD SHALL MY LIFE DO ME?

  WHAT HATH GOD WROUGHT!

  WHAT IS IT JESUS SAITH UNTO THE SOUL?

  WHAT IS PINK? A ROSE IS PINK

  WHAT IS THAT TO THEE? FOLLOW THOU ME

  WHAT IS THE BEGINNING? LOVE. WHAT THE COURSE? LOVE STILL

  WHAT IS THIS ABOVE THY HEAD

  WHAT SAPPHO WOULD HAVE SAID HAD HER LEAP CURED INSTEAD OF KILLING HER

  WHAT TO DO?

  WHAT WILL IT BE, O MY SOUL, WHAT WILL IT BE

  WHAT WILL YOU GIVE ME FOR MY POUND?

  WHAT WOULD I GIVE?

  WHAT?

  WHAT’S IN A NAME?

  WHATSOEVER IS RIGHT, THAT SHALL YE RECEIVE

  WHEN A MOUNTING SKYLARK SINGS

  WHEN FISHES SET UMBRELLAS UP

  WHEN I WAS IN TROUBLE I CALLED UPON THE LORD

  WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED I WILL COMPLAIN

  WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL COMPLAIN

  WHEN THE COWS COME HOME THE MILK IS COMING

  WHEN WICKEDNESS IS BROKEN AS A TREE

  WHERE INNOCENT BRIGHT-EYED DAISIES ARE

  WHERE LOVE IS, THERE COMES SORROW

  WHERE NEITHER RUST NOR MOTH DOTH CORRUPT

  WHERE NEVER TEMPEST HEAVETH

  WHERE SHALL I FIND A WHITE ROSE BLOWING?

  WHERE THEIR WORM DIETH NOT, AND THE FIRE IS NOT QUENCHED

  WHITHER THE TRIBES GO UP, EVEN THE TRIBES OF THE LORD

  WHITSUN DAY

  WHITSUN EVE

  WHITSUN EVE

  WHITSUN MONDAY

  WHITSUN TUESDAY

  WHO CARES FOR EARTHLY BREAD THO’ WHITE?

  WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND?

  WHO HATH DESPISED THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS?

  WHO HAVE A FORM OF GODLINESS

  WHO IS THIS THAT COMETH UP NOT ALONE

  WHO SHALL DELIVER ME?

  WHO SHALL MY WANDERING THOUGHTS STEADY & FIX

  WHO SITS WITH THE KING IN HIS THRONE? NOT A SLAVE BUT A BRIDE

  WHO WOULD WISH BACK THE SAINTS UPON OUR ROUGH

  WHOM THE LORD LOVETH HE CHASTENETH

  WHOSO HEARS A CHIMING FOR CHRISTMAS AT THE NIGHEST

  WHY DID BABY DIE

  WHY?

  WIFE TO HUSBAND

  WILL THESE HANDS NE’ER BE CLEAN?

  WILL YOU BE THERE? MY YEARNING HEART HAS CRIED

  WINTER RAIN

  WINTER: MY SECRET

  WISHES

  WITHIN THE VEIL

  WORSHIP GOD

  WOULD THAT I WERE A TURNIP WHITE

  WOULDST THOU GIVE ME A HEAVY JEWELED CROWN

  WRENS AND ROBINS IN THE HEDGE

  YE ARE COME UNTO MOUNT SION

  YE HAVE FORGOTTEN THE EXHORTATION

  YE THAT FEAR HIM, BOTH SMALL AND GREAT

  YEA, BLESSED AND HOLY IS HE THAT HATH PART IN THE FIRST RESURRECTION!

  YEA, I HAVE A GOODLY HERITAGE

  YEA, IF THOU WILT, THOU CANST PUT UP THY SWORD

  YEA, THE SPARROW HATH FOUND HER AN HOUSE

  YES, I TOO COULD FACE DEATH AND NEVER SHRINK

  YET A LITTLE WHILE

  YET A LITTLE WHILE

  YET A LITTLE WHILE

  YOU WHO LOOK ON PASSED AGES AS A GLASS

  YOUNG DEATH

>   YOUNG MEN AYE WERE FICKLE FOUND SINCE SUMMER TREES WERE LEAFY

  YOUR BROTHER HAS A FALCON

  ZARA

  ZARA

  ZARA

  ZION SAID

  The Fiction

  Rossetti, painted by her brother in 1877

  COMMONPLACE AND OTHER STORIES

  This short story collection was originally published in 1870, when Rossetti was forty years old. The title story concerns the three Charlmont sisters, Catherine, Lucy and Jane, who live in Brompton-on-Sea. When their father is lost at sea, his devoted wife lies dying in childbirth, and charges Catherine, the eldest daughter, to await his return. Years later, and now in her thirties, Catherine remains loyal to her promise, resigning herself to a life of spinsterhood.

  CONTENTS

  PREFATORY NOTE.

  COMMONPLACE.

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  CHAPTER V.

  CHAPTER VI.

  CHAPTER VII.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  CHAPTER IX.

  CHAPTER X.

  CHAPTER XI.

  CHAPTER XII.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  CHAPTER XV.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  THE LOST TITIAN.

  NICK.

  HERO.

  VANNA’S TWINS.

  A SAFE INVESTMENT.

  PROS AND CONS.

  THE WAVES OF THIS TROUBLESOME WORLD.

  PART I.

  PART II.

  COMMONPLACE AND OTHER STORIES

  ‘From sea to sea.’

  PREFATORY NOTE.

  THE earliest of these tales dates back to 1852, the latest was finished int 1870: a lapse of years sufficient to account for modifications of tone and style.

  ‘Pros and Cons,’ and ‘The Waves of this Troublesome World,’ were written each with a special object; which special object will, I hope, be accepted as my apology if the latter tale is judged too childish.

  Not one of the stories is founded on fact. This might not seem worth stating, had I not reason to fear that one or two of my kindest friends have viewed ‘The Lost Titian’ somewhat in the light of an imposture. I therefore take this opportunity of putting on record that I am not conversant with any tradition which points to the existence of a lost picture by that great master with whose name I have made free.

  C. G. R.

  April 1870.

  COMMONPLACE.

  CHAPTER I.

  BROMPTON-ON-SEA — any name not in ‘Bradshaw’ will do — Brompton-on-Sea in April.

  The air keen and sunny; the sea blue and rippling, not rolling; everything green, in sight and out of sight, coming on merrily. Birds active over straws and fluff; a hardy butterfly abroad for a change; a second hardy butterfly dancing through mid-air, in and out, and round about the first. A row of houses all alike stands facing the sea — all alike so far as stucco fronts and symmetrical doors and windows could make them so: but one house in the monotonous row was worth looking at, for the sake of more numerous hyacinths and early roses in its slip of front garden, and on several of its window-sills. Judging by appearances, and for once judging rightly, this must be a private residence on an esplanade full of lodging-houses.

  A pretty house inside too, snug in winter, fresh in summer; now in mid-spring sunny enough for an open window, and cool enough for a bright fire in the breakfast-room.

  Three ladies sat at the breakfast-table, three maiden ladies, obviously sisters by strong family likeness, yet with individual differences strong also. The eldest, Catherine, Miss Charlmont, having entered her thirty-third year, had taken on all occasions to appearing in some sort of cap. She began the custom at thirty, when also she gave up dancing, and adopted lace over her neck and arms in evening dress. “Her manner was formal and kindly, savouring of the provinces rather than of the capital; but of the provinces in their towns, not in their old country seats. Yet she was a well-bred gentlewoman in all essentials, tall and fair, a handsome member of a handsome family. She presided over the tea and coffee, and, despite modern usage, retained a tea-tray.

  Opposite her sat Lucy, less striking in features and complexion, but with an expression of quicker sensibility. Rather pretty and very sweet-looking, not turned thirty as yet, and on some points treated by Catherine as still a young thing. She had charge of the loaf and ham, and, like her elder sister, never indulged in opening letters till every one at table had been served.

  The third, Jane, free of meat-and-drink responsibilities, opened letters or turned over the newspaper as she pleased. She was youngest by many years, and came near to being very beautiful. Her profile was almost Grecian, her eyes were large, and her fair hair grew in wavy abundance. At first sight she threw Catherine and Lucy completely into the shade; afterwards, in spite of their additional years, they sometimes were preferred, for her face only of the three could be thought insipid. Pleasure and displeasure readily showed themselves in it, but the pleasure would be frivolous and the displeasure often unreasonable. A man might fall in love with Jane, but no one could make a friend of her; Catherine and Lucy were sure to have friends, however they might lack lovers.

  On the morning when our story commences the elders were busied with their respective charges, whilst Jane already sipped her tea and glanced up and down the Births, Marriages, and Deaths, in the ‘Times’ Supplement. There she sat, with one elbow on the table and her long lashes showing to advantage over downcast eyes. Dress was with her a matter for deep study, and her pink-and-white breakfast suit looked as fresh and blooming as April’s self. Her hair fell long and loose over her shoulders, in becoming freedom; and Catherine gazing at her felt a motherly pride in the pretty creature to whom, for years, she had performed a mother’s duty; and Lucy felt how young and fresh Jane was, and remembered that she herself was turned twenty-nine: but if the thought implied regret it was untinctured by envy.

  Jane read aloud: ‘“Halbert to Jane;” I wish I were Jane. And here, positively, are two more Janes, and not me. “Catherine” — that’s a death. Lucy, I don’t see you anywhere. Catherine was eighty-nine, and much respected. “Mrs. Anstruther of a son and heir.” I wonder if those are the Anstruthers I met in Scotland: she was very ugly, and short. “Everilda Stella,” — how can anybody be Everilda?’ Then, with a sudden accession of interest, ‘Why, Lucy, Everilda Stella has actually married your Mr. Hartley!’

  Lucy started, but no one noticed her. Catherine said, ‘Don’t say “your” Mr. Hartley, Jane: that is not a proper way of speaking about a married gentleman to an unmarried lady. Say “the Mr. Hartley you know,” or, “the Mr. Hartley you have met in London.” Besides, I am acquainted with him also; and very likely it is a different person. Hartley is not an uncommon name.’

  ‘Oh, but it is that Mr. Hartley, sister,’ retorted Jane, and she read:

  ‘“On Monday the 13th, at the parish-church, Fenton, by the Rev. James Durham, uncle of the bride, Alan Hartley, Esq. of the Woodlands, Gloucestershire, to Everilda Stella, only child and presumptive heiress of George Durham, Esq. of Orpingham Place, in the same county.”‘

  CHAPTER II.

  FORTY years before the commencement of this story, William Charlmont, an Indian army-surgeon, penniless, except for his pay, had come unexpectedly into some hundreds a year, left him by a maiden great-aunt, who had seen him but once, and that when he was five years old, on which occasion she boxed his ears for misspelling’ elephant.’ His stoicism under punishment, for he neither roared nor whined, may have won her heart; at any rate, from whatever motive, she, years afterwards, disappointed three nephews and a female first cousin by leaving every penny she was worth to him. This moderate accession of fortune justified him in consulting both health and inclination by exchanging regimental practice in India for general practice in England: and a combination of apparently trifling circumstances led him, so
on after his return home, to settle at the then infant watering-place of Brompton-on-Sea, of which the reputation had just been made by a royal duke’s visit; and the tide of fashion was setting to its shore.

  The house in which our story opens then stood alone, and’ belonged to a clergyman’s widow. As she possessed, besides, an only daughter, and but a small life annuity — nothing more — she sought for a lodger, and was glad to find one in the new medical practitioner. The widow, Mrs. Turner, was, and felt herself to be, no less a gentlewoman when she let lodgings than when with her husband and child she had occupied the same house alone; no less so when after breakfast she donned a holland apron and helped Martha, the maid, to make Mr. Charlmont’s bed, than when in old days she had devoted her mornings to visiting and relieving her poorer neighbours.

  Her daughter, Kate, felt their altered fortunes more painfully; and showed, sometimes by uncomfortable bashfulness, sometimes by anxious self-assertion, how much importance she attached to the verdict of Mrs. Grundy. Her mother’s holland apron was to her a daily humiliation, and single-handed Martha an irritating shortcoming. She chilled old friends by declining invitations, because her wardrobe lacked variety, and shunned new acquaintances lest they should call at some moment when herself or her mother might have to answer the door. A continual aim at false appearances made her constrained and affected; and persons who would never have dwelt upon the fact that Mrs. Turner let lodgings, were certain to have it recalled to mind by Miss Turner’s uneasiness.

  But Kate owned a pretty face, adorned by a pink-and-white complexion, most refreshing to eyes that had ached under an Indian sun. At first Mr. Charlmont set her down as merely affected and silly; then he began to dwell on the fact that, however silly and affected, she was indisputably pretty; next he reflected that reverses of fortune deserve pity and demand every gentleman’s most courteous consideration. In himself such consideration at once took the form of books lent from his library; of flowers for the drawing-room, and fruit for dessert. Kate, to do her justice, was no flirt, and saw without seeing his attentions; but her more experienced mother seeing, pondered, and seized, or made, an opportunity for checking her lodger’s intimacy. Mr. Charlmont, however, was not to be rebuffed; opposition made him earnest, whilst the necessity of expressing his feelings gave them definiteness: and not many months later Kate, with the house for her dowry, became Mrs. William Charlmont, the obnoxious lodger developed into an attached and dear husband, and Mrs. Turner retired on the life annuity to finish her days in independence.