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The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti

A variorum edition: Edited, with textual notes and introductions, by R. W. Crump
Rossetti, Christina Georgina (1830-1894)

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VOLUME I
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VOLUME II
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VOLUME III
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I Separately Published Poems
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II Privately Printed Poems
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III Unpublished Poems
  
Heaven.
  
Hymn.
  
Corydon's Lament and Resolution.
  
Rosalind.
  
The Faithless Shepherdess.
  
Ariadne to Theseus.
  
On Albina.
  
A Hymn for Christmas Day.
  
Love and Death.
  
Despair.
  
Forget Me Not.
  
Easter Morning.
  
The Last Words of St. Telemachus.
  
Lord Thomas and fair Margaret.
  
Lines to my Grandfather.
  
Charade.
  
Hope in Grief.
  
Song.
  
Praise of Love.
  
“I have fought a good fight.”
  
Wishes: Sonnet.
  
Eleanor.
  
Isidora.
  
The Novice.
  
Immalee:
  
Lady Isabella.
  
Night and Death.
  
“Young men aye were fickle found Since summer trees were leafy.”
  
The Lotus-Eaters: Ulysses to Penelope.
  
Sonnet from the Psalms.
  
Song.
  
A Counsel.
  
The World's Harmonies.
  
Lines given with a Penwiper.
  
The last Answer.
  
One of the Dead.
  
“The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint.”
  
“I do set My bow in the cloud.”
  
“O Death where is thy Sting?”
  
Undine.
  
Lady Montrevor.
  
Floral Teaching.
  
“Death is swallowed up in Victory.”
  
Death.
  
A Hopeless Case.
  
Ellen Middleton.
  
St. Andrew's Church.
  
Grown Cold.
  
Zara.
  
Ruin.
  
“Sleep, sleep, happy child; “All creation slept and smiled.” Blake.
  
What Sappho would have said had her leap cured instead of killing her.
  
On Keats.
  
Have Patience.
  
To Lalla, reading my verses topsy-turvy.
  
Sonnet.
  
The last Complaint.
  
Have you forgotten?
  
A Christmas Carol, (on the stroke of Midnight.)
  
For Advent.
  
Two Pursuits.
  
Looking forward.
  
Life hidden.
  
Queen Rose.
  
How one chose.
  
Seeking rest.
  
A Year Afterwards.
  
Two thoughts of Death.
  
Three Moments.
  
Once.
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Three Nuns.
  
Song.
  
The Watchers.
  
Annie.
  
A Dirge.
  
Song.
  
A Dream.
  
“A fair World tho' a fallen.”—
  
Advent.
  
All Saints.
  
“Eye hath not seen.”
  
St. Elizabeth of Hungary.
  
Moonshine.
  
“The Summer is ended.”
  
“I look for the Lord.”
  
Song.
  
A Discovery.
  
From the Antique.
  
“The heart knoweth its own bitterness.”
  
“To what purpose is this waste?”
  
Next of Kin.
  
“Let them rejoice in their beds.”
  
Portraits.
  
Whitsun Eve.
  
What?
  
A Pause.
  
Holy Innocents.
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“There remaineth therefore a rest for the people of God.”
  
Annie.
  
Seasons.
  
[Thou sleepest where the lilies fade]
  
[I wish I were a little bird]
  
(Two parted.)
  
[All night I dream you love me well]
  
(For Rosaline's Album.)
  
[Care flieth]
  
(Epitaph.)
  
The P. R. B.
  
Seasons.
  
“Who have a form of godliness.”
  
Ballad.
  
A Study. (A Soul.)
  
“There remaineth therefore a rest.”
  
“Ye have forgotten the exhortation.”
  
Guesses.
  
From the Antique.
  
Three Stages.
  
Long looked for.
  
Listening.
  
Zara
  
The last look.
  
“I have a message unto thee.”
  
Cobwebs.
  
Unforgotten.
  
An Afterthought.
  
To the end.
  
“Zion said.”
  
May.
  
River Thames (?).
  
A chilly night.
  
“Let patience have her perfect work.”
  
A Martyr.
  
In the Lane.
  
Acme.
  
A bed of Forget-me-nots.
  
The Chiefest among ten thousand.
  
“Look on this picture and on this.”
  
“Now they desire.”
  
A Christmas Carol, for my Godchildren.
  
“Not yours but you.”
  
An Answer.
  
Sir Winter.
  
In an Artist's Studio.
  
Introspective.
  
“The heart knoweth its own bitterness.”
  
“Reflection”.
  
A Coast-Nightmare.
  
‘For one Sake.’
  
My old Friends.
  
“Yet a little while”.
  
“Only believe.”
  
“Rivals.” A Shadow of Saint Dorothea.
  
A Yawn.
  
For H. P.
  
“Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another.”
  
“What good shall my life do me?”
  
The Massacre of Perugia.
  
[I have done with hope]
  
Promises like Piecrust.
  
By the waters of Babylon.
  
Better so.
  
Our widowed Queen.
  
In progress.
  
“Out of the deep.”
  
For a Mercy received.
  
Summer.
  
A Dumb Friend.
  
Margery.
  
In Patience.
  
Sunshine.
  
Meeting.
  
“None with Him.”
  
Under Willows.
  
A Sketch.
  
If I had Words.
  
What to do?
  
Young Death.
  
In a certain place.
  
“Cannot sweeten.”
  
Of my life.
  
[Yes, I too could face death and never shrink]
  
[Would that I were a turnip white]
  
[I fancy the good fairies dressed in white]
  
[Some ladies dress in muslin full and white]
  
Autumn.
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By way of Remembrance.
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Valentines from C.G.R.
  
[Ah welladay and wherefore am I here?]
  
[Along the highroad the way is too long]
  
[And is this August weather? nay not so]
  
[From early dawn until the flush of noon]
  
[I seek among the living & I seek]
  
[O glorious sea that in each climbing wave]
  
[Oh thou who tell'st me that all hope is over]
  
[Surely there is an aching void within]
  
[The spring is come again not as at first]
  
[Who shall my wandering thoughts steady & fix]
  
[You who look on passed ages as a glass]
  
The Succession of Kings.
  
A true Story.
  
[The two Rossettis (brothers they)]
  
Imitated from the Arpa Evangelica: Page 121.
  
[Mr. and Mrs. Scott, and I]
  
[Gone to his rest]
  
[I said “All's over”—& I made my]
  
[I said good bye in hope]
  
My Mouse.
  
[Had Fortune parted us]
  
Counterblast on Penny Trumpet.
  
[A roundel seems to fit a round of days]
  
[Heaven overarches earth and sea]
  
[Sleeping at last, the trouble & tumult over]
  
4th May morning.
  
THE CHINAMAN.
  
[‘Come cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer!’]
  
THE PLAGUE
  
[How many authors are my first!]
  
[Me you often meet]
  
[So I began my walk of life; no stop]
  
[So I grew half delirious and quite sick]
  
[On the note you do not send me]
  
CHARON
  
FROM METASTASIO
  
GOLDEN HOLLY
  
[I toiled on, but thou]
  
COR MIO
  
[My old admiration before I was twenty,—]
  
TO MARY ROSSETTI
  
TO MY FIOR-DI-LISA
  
[Hail, noble face of noble friend!—]
  
Hymn

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172

“THERE IS A BUDDING MORROW IN MIDNIGHT.”

Wintry boughs against a wintry sky;
Yet the sky is partly blue
And the clouds are partly bright:—
Who can tell but sap is mounting high
Out of sight,
Ready to burst through?
Winter is the mother-nurse of Spring,
Lovely for her daughter's sake,
Not unlovely for her own:
For a future buds in everything;
Grown, or blown,
Or about to break.
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