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The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti

A variorum edition: Edited, with textual notes and introductions, by R. W. Crump

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159

Grown Cold.

Sonnet.

An old man asked me: What is Love? I turned
In mirth away, and would not answer him;
He filled a cup of wine up to the brim,
And yet no sparkling in its depths discerned.
Methought a death fire in his weak eyes burned
While he beholding brightness called it dim;
He sat and chuckled: 'twas a ghastly whim
In one whose spirit had so little learned.
So shall it be with me; but so not I
Shall question: certainly the blessèd thought
Of Love shall linger, when itself is gone.
Oh nest of thorns for dove to brood upon!
Oh painful throbbings of a heart untaught
To rest when all its gladness goeth by!