Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems

by Christina Rossetti

But tomorrow you shall know this too.'

  'Oh not tomorrow into the dark, I pray;

  Oh not tomorrow, too soon to go away:

  Here I feel warm and well-content and gay:

  Give me another year, another day.'

  'Am I so changed in a day and a night

  That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright,

  Is fain to turn away to left or right

  And cover up his eyes from the sight?'

  'Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend,

  I loved you for life, but life has an end;

  Through sickness I was ready to tend:

  But death mars all, which we cannot mend.

  'Indeed I loved you; I love you yet,

  If you will stay where your bed is set,

  Where I have planted a violet,

  Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet.'

  'Life is gone, then love too is gone,

  It was a reed that I leant upon:

  Never doubt I will leave you alone

  And not wake you rattling bone with bone.

  'I go home alone to my bed,

  Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head,

  Roofed in with a load of lead,

  Warm enough for the forgotten dead.

  'But why did your tears soak through the clay,

  And why did your sobs wake me where I lay?

  I was away, far enough away:

  Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day.'

  A PORTRAIT

  I

  SHE gave up beauty in her tender youth,

  Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways;

  She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze

  On vanity, and chose the bitter truth.

  Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth,

  Servant of servants, little known to praise,

  Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and days:

  She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth

  That with the poor and stricken she might make

  A home, until the least of all sufficed

  Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake,

  Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss.

  So with calm will she chose and bore the cross

  And hated all for love of Jesus Christ.

  II

  They knelt in silent anguish by her bed,

  And could not weep; but calmly there she lay.

  All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray

  Shone through upon her, warming into red

  The shady curtains. In her heart she said:

  'Heaven opens; I leave these and go away;

  The Bridegroom calls,—shall the Bride seek to stay?'

  Then low upon her breast she bowed her head.

  O lily flower, O gem of priceless worth,

  O dove with patient voice and patient eyes,

  O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth,

  O maid replete with loving purities,

  Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth

  To raise it with the saints in Paradise.

  DREAM-LOVE

  YOUNG Love lies sleeping

  In May-time of the year,

  Among the lilies,

  Lapped in the tender light:

  White lambs come grazing,

  White doves come building there;

  And round about him

  The May-bushes are white.

  Soft moss the pillow

  For oh, a softer cheek;

  Broad leaves cast shadow

  Upon the heavy eyes:

  There winds and waters

  Grow lulled and scarcely speak;

  There twilight lingers

  The longest in the skies.

  Young Love lies dreaming;

  But who shall tell the dream?

  A perfect sunlight

  On rustling forest tips;

  Or perfect moonlight

  Upon a rippling stream;

  Or perfect silence,

  Or song of cherished lips.

  Burn odours round him

  To fill the drowsy air;

  Weave silent dances

  Around him to and fro;

  For oh, in waking

  The sights are not so fair,

  And song and silence

  Are not like these below.

  Young Love lies dreaming

  Till summer days are gone,—

  Dreaming and drowsing

  Away to perfect sleep:

  He sees the beauty

  Sun hath not looked upon,

  And tastes the fountain

  Unutterably deep.

  Him perfect music

  Doth hush unto his rest,

  And through the pauses

  The perfect silence calms:

  Oh, poor the voices

  Of earth from east to west,

  And poor earth's stillness

  Between her stately palms.

  Young Love lies drowsing

  Away to poppied death;

  Cool shadows deepen

  Across the sleeping face:

  So fails the summer

  With warm, delicious breath;

  And what hath autumn

  To give us in its place?

  Draw close the curtains

  Of branched evergreen;

  Change cannot touch them

  With fading fingers sere:

  Here the first violets

  Perhaps will bud unseen,

  And a dove, may be,

  Return to nestle here.

  TWICE

  I TOOK my heart in my hand

  (O my love, O my love),

  I said: Let me fall or stand,

  Let me live or die,

  But this once hear me speak—

  (O my love, O my love)—

  Yet a woman's words are weak;

  You should speak, not I.

  You took my heart in your hand

  With a friendly smile,

  With a critical eye you scanned,

  Then set it down,

  And said: It is still unripe,

  Better wait awhile;

  Wait while the skylarks pipe,

  Till the corn grows brown.

  As you set it down it broke—

  Broke, but I did not wince;

  I smiled at the speech you spoke,

  At your judgment that I heard:

  But I have not often smiled

  Since then, nor questioned since,

  Nor cared for corn-flowers wild,

  Nor sung with the singing bird.

  I take my heart in my hand,

  O my God, O my God,

  My broken heart in my hand:

  Thou hast seen, judge Thou.

  My hope was written on sand,

  O my God, O my God:

  Now let Thy judgment stand—

  Yea, judge me now.

  This contemned of a man,

  This marred one heedless day,

  This heart take Thou to scan

  Both within and without:

  Refine with fire its gold,

  Purge Thou its dross away—

  Yea, hold it in Thy hold,

  Whence none can pluck it out.

  I take my heart in my hand—

  I shall not die, but live—

  Before Thy face I stand;

  I, for Thou callest such:

  All that I have I bring,

  All that I am I give,

  Smile Thou and I shall sing,

  But shall not question much.

  SONGS IN A CORNFIELD

  A SONG in a cornfield

  Where corn begins to fall,

  Where reapers are reaping,

  Reaping one, reaping all.

  Sing pretty Lettice,

  Sing Rachel, sing May;

  Only Marian cannot sing

  While her sweetheart's away.

  Where is he gone to

  And why d
oes he stay?

  He came across the green sea

  But for a day,

  Across the deep green sea

  To help with the hay.

  His hair was curly yellow

  And his eyes were grey,

  He laughed a merry laugh

  And said a sweet say.

  Where is he gone to

  That he comes not home?

  Today or tomorrow

  He surely will come.

  Let him haste to joy

  Lest he lag for sorrow,

  For one weeps today

  Who'll not weep tomorrow:

  Today she must weep

  For gnawing sorrow,

  Tonight she may sleep

  And not wake tomorrow.

  May sang with Rachel

  In the waxing warm weather,

  Lettice sang with them,

  They sang all together:—

  'Take the wheat in your arm

  Whilst day is broad above,

  Take the wheat to your bosom,

  But not a false false love.

  Out in the fields

  Summer heat gloweth,

  Out in the fields

  Summer wind bloweth,

  Out in the fields

  Summer friend showeth,

  Out in the fields

  Summer wheat groweth;

  But in the winter

  When summer heat is dead

  And summer wind has veered

  And summer friend has fled,

  Only summer wheat remaineth,

  White cakes and bread.

  Take the wheat, clasp the wheat

  That's food for maid and dove;

  Take the wheat to your bosom,

  But not a false false love.'

  A silence of full noontide heat

  Grew on them at their toil:

  The farmer's dog woke up from sleep,

  The green snake hid her coil.

  Where grass stood thickest, bird and beast

  Sought shadows as they could,

  The reaping men and women paused

  And sat down where they stood;

  They ate and drank and were refreshed,

  For rest from toil is good.

  While the reapers took their ease,

  Their sickles lying by,

  Rachel sang a second strain,

  And singing seemed to sigh:—

  'There goes the swallow—

  Could we but follow!

  Hasty swallow stay,

  Point us out the way;

  Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop swallow.

  'There went the swallow—

  Too late to follow:

  Lost our note of way,

  Lost our chance today;

  Good bye swallow, sunny swallow, wise swallow.

  'After the swallow

  All sweet things follow:

  All things go their way,

  Only we must stay,

  Must not follow; good bye swallow, good swallow.'

  Then listless Marian raised her head

  Among the nodding sheaves;

  Her voice was sweeter than that voice;

  She sang like one who grieves:

  Her voice was sweeter than its wont

  Among the nodding sheaves;

  All wondered while they heard her sing

  Like one who hopes and grieves:—

  'Deeper than the hail can smite,

  Deeper than the frost can bite,

  Deep asleep through day and night,

  Our delight.

  'Now thy sleep no pang can break,

  No tomorrow bid thee wake,

  Not our sobs who sit and ache

  For thy sake.

  'Is it dark or light below?

  Oh, but is it cold like snow?

  Dost thou feel the green things grow

  Fast or slow?

  'Is it warm or cold beneath,

  Oh, but is it cold like death?

  Cold like death, without a breath,

  Cold like death?'

  If he comes today

  He will find her weeping;

  If he comes tomorrow

  He will find her sleeping;

  If he comes the next day

  He'll not find her at all,

  He may tear his curling hair,

  Beat his breast and call.

  A YEAR'S WINDFALLS

  ON the wind of January

  Down flits the snow,

  Travelling from the frozen North

  As cold as it can blow.

  Poor robin redbreast,

  Look where he comes;

  Let him in to feel your fire,

  And toss him of your crumbs.

  On the wind in February

  Snowflakes float still,

  Half inclined to turn to rain,

  Nipping, dripping, chill.

  Then the thaws swell the streams,

  And swollen rivers swell the sea:—

  If the winter ever ends

  How pleasant it will be.

  In the wind of windy March

  The catkins drop down,

  Curly, caterpillar-like,

  Curious green and brown.

  With concourse of nest-building birds

  And leaf-buds by the way,

  We begin to think of flowers

  And life and nuts some day.

  With the gusts of April

  Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall,

  On the hedged-in orchard-green,

  From the southern wall.

  Apple-trees and pear-trees

  Shed petals white or pink,

  Plum-trees and peach-trees;

  While sharp showers sink and sink.

  Little brings the May breeze

  Beside pure scent of flowers,

  While all things wax and nothing wanes

  In lengthening daylight hours.

  Across the hyacinth beds

  The wind lags warm and sweet,

  Across the hawthorn tops,

  Across the blades of wheat.

  In the wind of sunny June

  Thrives the red rose crop,

  Every day fresh blossoms blow

  While the first leaves drop;

  White rose and yellow rose

  And moss-rose choice to find,

  And the cottage cabbage-rose

  Not one whit behind.

  On the blast of scorched July

  Drives the pelting hail,