The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti A variorum edition: Edited, with textual notes and introductions, by R. W. Crump |
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 | The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti |  |
May.
Sweet Life is dead.—
Not so:
I meet him day by day,
Where bluest fountains flow
And trees are white as snow
For it is time of May.
Even now from long ago
He will not say me nay;
He is most fair to see;
And if I wander forth, I know
He wanders forth with me.
Not so:
I meet him day by day,
Where bluest fountains flow
And trees are white as snow
For it is time of May.
Even now from long ago
He will not say me nay;
He is most fair to see;
And if I wander forth, I know
He wanders forth with me.
But Life is dead to me;
The worn-out year was failing
West winds took up a wailing
To watch his funeral:
Bare poplars shivered tall
And lank vines stretched to see;
'Twixt him and me a wall
Was frozen of earth like stone
With brambles overgrown;
Chill darkness wrapped him like a pall
And I am left alone.
The worn-out year was failing
West winds took up a wailing
To watch his funeral:
Bare poplars shivered tall
And lank vines stretched to see;
'Twixt him and me a wall
Was frozen of earth like stone
With brambles overgrown;
Chill darkness wrapped him like a pall
And I am left alone.
How can you call him dead?
He buds out everywhere:
In every hedgerow rank,
On every mossgrown bank
I find him here and there.
He crowns my willing head
With may flowers white and red,
He rears my tender heartsease bed;
He makes my branch to bud and bear,
And blossoms where I tread.
He buds out everywhere:
247
On every mossgrown bank
I find him here and there.
He crowns my willing head
With may flowers white and red,
He rears my tender heartsease bed;
He makes my branch to bud and bear,
And blossoms where I tread.
| The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti | |