The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti A variorum edition: Edited, with textual notes and introductions, by R. W. Crump |
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“Cannot sweeten.” |
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 | The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti |  |
“Cannot sweeten.”
If that's water you wash your hands in
Why is it black as ink is black?—
Because my hands are foul with my folly:
Oh the lost time that comes not back!—
Why is it black as ink is black?—
Because my hands are foul with my folly:
Oh the lost time that comes not back!—
If that's water you bathe your feet in
Why is it red as wine is red?—
Because my feet sought blood in their goings;
Red red is the track they tread.—
Why is it red as wine is red?—
Because my feet sought blood in their goings;
Red red is the track they tread.—
298
Slew you mother or slew you father
That your foulness passeth not by?—
Not father and oh not mother:
I slew my love with an evil eye.—
That your foulness passeth not by?—
Not father and oh not mother:
I slew my love with an evil eye.—
Slew you sister or slew you brother
That in peace you have not a part?—
Not brother and oh not sister:
I slew my love with a hardened heart.
That in peace you have not a part?—
Not brother and oh not sister:
I slew my love with a hardened heart.
He loved me because he loved me,
Not for grace or beauty I had;
He loved me because he loved me;
For his loving me I was glad.
Not for grace or beauty I had;
He loved me because he loved me;
For his loving me I was glad.
Yet I loved him not for his loving
While I played with his love and truth,
Not loving him for his loving,
Wasting his joy, wasting his youth.
While I played with his love and truth,
Not loving him for his loving,
Wasting his joy, wasting his youth.
I ate his life as a banquet,
I drank his life as new wine,
I fattened upon his leanness,
Mine to flourish and his to pine.
I drank his life as new wine,
I fattened upon his leanness,
Mine to flourish and his to pine.
So his life fled as running water,
So it perished as water spilt:
If black my hands and my feet as scarlet,
Blacker redder my heart of guilt.
So it perished as water spilt:
If black my hands and my feet as scarlet,
Blacker redder my heart of guilt.
Cold as a stone, as hard, as heavy;
All my sighs ease it no whit,
All my tears make it no cleaner
Dropping dropping dropping on it.
All my sighs ease it no whit,
All my tears make it no cleaner
Dropping dropping dropping on it.
| The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti | |