The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti :: :: University of Virginia Library

Chide not; let me breathe a little,
For I shall not mourn him long.
Tho' the life-cord was so brittle
The love-cord was very strong.
I would wake a little space
Till I find a sleeping-place.

You can go, I shall not weep;
You can go unto your rest;
My heart-ache is all too deep,
And too sore my throbbing breast.
Can sobs be, or angry tears,
Where are neither hopes nor fears?

Tho' with you I am alone,
And must be so everywhere,
I will make no useless moan;
None shall say: “She could not bear;”
While life lasts I will be strong,
But I shall not struggle long.

Listen, listen! everywhere
A low voice is calling me,
And a step is on the stair,
And one comes ye do not see.
Listen, listen! evermore
A dim hand knocks at the door.

Hear me: he is come again;
My own dearest is come back.

Bring him in from the cold rain;
Bring wine, and let nothing lack.
Thou and I will rest together,
Love, until the sunny weather.

I will shelter thee from harm,
Hide thee from all heaviness;
Come to me, and keep thee warm
By my side in quietness.
I will lull thee to thy sleep
With sweet songs; we will not weep.

Who hath talked of weeping? yet
There is something at my heart
Gnawing, I would fain forget,
And an aching and a smart—
Ah my Mother, 'tis in vain,
For he is not come again.

HEART'S CHILL BETWEEN.

I did not chide him, tho' I knew
That he was false to me:
Chide the exhaling of the dew,
The ebbing of the sea,
The fading of a rosy hue,
But not inconstancy.

Why strive for love when love is o'er?
Why bind a restive heart?
He never knew the pain I bore
In saying: “We must part;
Let us be friends, and nothing more”:—
Oh woman's shallow art!

But it is over, it is done;
I hardly heed it now;
So many weary years have run
Since then, I think not how
Things might have been; but greet each one
With an unruffled brow.

What time I am where others be
My heart seems very calm,
Stone calm; but if all go from me
There comes a vague alarm,
A shrinking in the memory
From some forgotten harm.

And often thro' the long long night
Waking when none are near,
I feel my heart beat fast with fright,
Yet know not what I fear.
Oh how I long to see the light
And the sweet birds to hear!

To have the sun upon my face,
To look up through the trees,
To walk forth in the open space,
And listen to the breeze,
And not to dream the burial place
Is clogging my weak knees.

Sometimes I can nor weep nor pray,
But am half stupified;
And then all those who see me say
Mine eyes are opened wide,
And that my wits seem gone away:—
Ah would that I had died!

Would I could die and be at peace,
Or living could forget;
My grief nor grows nor doth decrease,
But ever is:—and yet
Methinks now that all this shall cease
Before the sun shall set.

Repining.

She sat alway thro' the long day
Spinning the weary thread away;
And ever said in undertone:
“Come; that I be no more alone.”

From early dawn to set of sun
Working, her task was still undone;
And the long thread seemed to increase
Even while she spun and did not cease.
She heard the gentle turtle dove
Tell to its mate a tale of love;
She saw the glancing swallows fly,
Ever a social company;
She knew each bird upon its nest
Had cheering songs to bring it rest;
None lived alone, save only she;
The wheel went round more wearily;
She wept, and said in undertone:
“Come; that I be no more alone.”
Day followed day; and still she sighed
For love, and was not satisfied;
Until one night, when the moon-light
Turned all the trees to silver white,
She heard, what ne'er she heard before,
A steady hand undo the door.
The nightingale since set of sun
Her throbbing music had not done,
And she had listened silently;
But now the wind had changed, and she
Heard the sweet song no more, but heard
Beside her bed a whispered word:
“Damsel, rise up; be not afraid,
“For I am come at last;” it said.

She trembled tho' the voice was mild,
She trembled like a frightened child,
Till she looked up, and then she saw
The unknown speaker without awe.
He seemed a fair young man, his eyes
Beaming with serious charities;
His cheek was white, but hardly pale;
And a dim glory, like a veil,
Hovered about his head, and shone
Thro' the whole room, till night was gone.

So her fear fled; and then she said,
Leaning upon her quiet bed:
“Now thou art come I prithee stay,
“That I may see thee in the day,
“And learn to know thy voice, and hear
“It evermore calling me near.”
He answered: “Rise, and follow me.”
But she looked upwards wonderingly:
“And whither would'st thou go friend? stay
“Until the dawning of the day.”
But he said: “The wind ceaseth, Maid;
“Of chill nor damp be thou afraid.”
She bound her hair up from the floor,
And passed in silence from the door.

So they went forth together, he
Helping her forward tenderly.
The hedges bowed beneath his hand;
Forth from the streams came the dry land
As they passed over; evermore
The pallid moonbeams shone before,
And the wind hushed, and nothing stirred;
Not even a solitary bird
Scared by their footsteps fluttered by,
Where aspen trees stood steadily.

As they went on, at length a sound
Came trembling on the air around;
The undistinguishable hum
Of life; voices that go and come
Of busy men and the child's sweet
High laugh, and noise of trampling feet.

Then he said: “Wilt thou go and see?”
And she made answer joyfully:
“The noise of life, of human life,
“Of dear communion without strife,
“Of converse held 'twixt friend and friend;
“Is it not here our path shall end?”

He led her on a little way
Until they reached a hillock: “Stay.”

It was a village in a plain.
High mountains screened it from the rain
And stormy wind; and nigh at hand
A bubbling streamlet flowed, o'er sand
Pebbly and fine; and sent life up
Green succous stalk and flower cup.

Gradually, day's harbinger,
A chilly wind began to stir.
It seemed a gentle powerless breeze
That scarcely rustled thro' the trees;
And yet it touched the mountain's head,
And the paths man might never tread.
But hearken! in the quiet weather
Do all the streams flow down together?
No, 'tis a sound more terrible
Than tho' a thousand rivers fell.
The everlasting ice and snow
Were loosened then, but not to flow;
With a loud crash like solid thunder
The avalanche came, burying under
The village; turning life and breath
And rest and joy and plans to death.

“Oh let us fly, for pity fly,
“Let us go hence friend, thou and I.
“There must be many regions yet
“Where these things make not desolate.”

He looked upon her seriously;
Then said: “Arise, and follow me.”
The path that lay before them was
Nigh covered over with long grass,
And many slimy things and slow
Trailed on between the roots below.
The moon looked dimmer than before;
And shadowy cloudlets floating o'er

Its face, sometimes quite hid its light,
And filled the skies with deeper night.

At last, as they went on, the noise
Was heard of the sea's mighty voice;
And soon the ocean could be seen
In its long restlessness serene.
Upon its breast a vessel rode
That drowsily appeared to nod
As the great billows rose and fell,
And swelled to sink, and sank to swell.

Meanwhile the strong wind had come forth
From the chill regions of the North;
The mighty wind invisible.
And the low waves began to swell;
And the sky darkened overhead;
And the moon once looked forth, then fled
Behind dark clouds; while here and there
The lightning shone out in the air;
And the approaching thunder rolled
With angry pealings manifold.
How many vows were made; and prayers
That in safe times were cold and scarce.
Still all availed not; and at length
The waves arose in all their strength,
And fought against the ship, and filled
The ship; then were the clouds unsealed,
And the rains hurried forth and beat
On every side and over it.

Some clung together; and some kept
A long stern silence; and some wept.
Many, half crazed, looked on in wonder
As the strong timbers rent asunder;
Friends forgot friends; foes fled to foes;
And still the water rose and rose.

“Ah woe is me! whom I have seen
“Are now as tho' they had not been.

“In the earth there is room for birth,
“And there are graves enough in earth;
“Why should the cold sea, tempest torn,
“Bury those whom it hath not borne?”

He answered not, and they went on.
The glory of the heavens was gone;
The moon gleamed not, nor any Star;
Cold winds were rustling near and far;
And from the trees the dry leaves fell
With a sad sound unspeakable.

The air was cold; till from the South
A gust blew hot like sudden drouth
Into their faces, and a light
Glowing and red shone thro' the night.

A mighty city full of flame,
And death, and sounds without a name!
Amid the black and blinding smoke
The people, as one man, awoke.
Oh happy they who yesterday
On the long journey went away;
Whose pallid lips, smiling and chill,
While the flames scorch them smile on still;
Who murmur not, who tremble not
When the bier crackles fiery hot;
Who dying said in love's increase:
“Lord, let Thy servant part in peace.”

Those in the town could see and hear
A shaded river flowing near.
The broad deep bed could hardly hold
Its plenteous waters calm and cold.
Was flame wrapped all the city wall,
The city gates were flame wrapped all.

What was man's strength, what puissance then?
Women were mighty as strong men.
Some knelt in prayer believing still,
Resigned unto a righteous will,
Bowing beneath the chastening rod,

Lost to the world, but found of God.
Some prayed for friend, for child, for wife;
Some prayed for faith; some prayed for life;
While some, proud even in death, hope gone,
Steadfast and still stood looking on.

“Death, death! oh let us fly from death,
“Where'er we go it followeth.
“All these are dead; and we alone
“Remain to weep for what is gone.
“What is this thing, thus hurriedly
“To pass into eternity?
“To leave the earth so full of mirth?
“To lose the profit of our birth?
“To die and be no more? to cease,
“Having numbness that is not peace?
“Let us go hence: and even if thus
“Death everywhere must go with us,
“Let us not see the change, but see
“Those who have been or still shall be.”

He sighed, and they went on together.
Beneath their feet did the grass wither;
Across the heaven, high overhead,
Dark misty clouds floated and fled;
And in their bosom was the thunder;
And angry lightnings flashed out under,
Forkèd and red and menacing;
Far off the wind was muttering;
It seemed to tell, not understood,
Strange secrets to the listening wood.

Upon its wings it bore the scent
Of blood of a great armament;
Then saw they how on either side
Fields were downtrodden far and wide;
That morning at the break of day,
Two nations had gone forth to slay.

As a man soweth, so he reaps.
The field was full of bleeding heaps;

Ghastly corpses of men and horses
That met death at a thousand sources;
Cold limbs and putrifying flesh;
Long love-locks clotted to a mesh
That stifled; stiffened mouths beneath
Staring eyes that had looked on death.

But these were dead; these felt no more
The anguish of the wounds they bore.
Behold; they shall not sigh again,
Nor justly fear, nor hope in vain.
What if none wept above them; is
The sleeper less at rest for this?
Is not the young child's slumber sweet
When no man watcheth over it?

These had deep calm: but all around
There was a deadly smothered sound,
The choking cry of agony
From wounded men who could not die.
Who watched the black wing of the raven
Rise like a cloud 'twixt them and heaven,
And in the distance, flying fast,
Beheld the eagle come at last.

She knelt down in her agony:
“O Lord, it is enough;” said she:
“My heart's prayer putteth me to shame;
“Let me return to whence I came.
“Thou, Who for love's sake didst reprove,
“Forgive me, for the sake of love.”

NEW ENIGMAS.

Name any gentleman you spy,
And there's a chance that he is I;
Go out to angle, and you may
Catch me on a propitious day:
Booted and spurred, their journey ended,

The weary are by me befriended:
If roasted meat should be your wish,
I am more needful than a dish:
I am acknowledgedly poor:
Yet my resources are no fewer
Than all the trades; there is not one
But I profess, beneath the sun:
I bear a part in many a game;
My worth may change, I am the same.
Sometimes, by you expelled, I roam
Forth from the sanctuary of home.

CHARADES.

My first is no proof of my second,
Though my second's a proof of my first:
If I were my whole I should tell you
Quite freely my best and my worst.

One clue more: if you fail to discover
My meaning, you're blind as a mole;
But if you will frankly confess it,
You show yourself clearly my whole.

THE ROSE.

O Rose, thou flower of flowers, thou fragrant wonder,
Who shall describe thee in thy ruddy prime;
Thy perfect fulness in the summer time;
When the pale leaves blushingly part asunder
And show the warm red heart lies glowing under?
Thou shouldst bloom surely in some sunny clime,
Untouched by blights and chilly Winter's rime,
Where lightnings never flash, nor peals the thunder.
And yet in happier spheres they cannot need thee
So much as we do with our weight of woe;

Perhaps they would not tend, perhaps not heed thee,
And thou wouldst lonely and neglected grow;
And He Who is All-Wise, He hath decreed thee
To gladden earth and cheer all hearts below.

The Trees' Counselling.

I was strolling sorrowfully
Thro' the corn fields and the meadows;
The stream sounded melancholy,
And I walked among the shadows;
While the ancient forest trees
Talked together in the breeze;
In the breeze that waved and blew them,
With a strange weird rustle thro' them.

Said the oak unto the others
In a leafy voice and pleasant:
“Here we all are equal brothers,
“Here we have nor lord nor peasant.
“Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring,
“Pass in happy following.
“Little winds may whistle by us,
“Little birds may overfly us;

“But the sun still waits in heaven
“To look down on us in splendour;
“When he goes the moon is given,
“Full of rays that he doth lend her:
“And tho' sometimes in the night
“Mists may hide her from our sight,
“She comes out in the calm weather,
“With the glorious stars together.”

From the fruitage, from the blossom,
From the trees came no denying;
Then my heart said in my bosom:
“Wherefore art thou sad and sighing?
“Learn contentment from this wood

“That proclaimeth all states good;
“Go not from it as it found thee;
“Turn thyself and gaze around thee.”

And I turned: behold the shading
But showed forth the light more clearly;
The wild bees were honey-lading;
The stream sounded hushing merely,
And the wind not murmuring
Seemed, but gently whispering:
“Get thee patience; and thy spirit
“Shall discern in all things merit.”

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock.”

Who standeth at the gate?—A woman old,
A widow from the husband of her love:
“O Lady, stay; this wind is piercing cold,
Oh look at the keen frosty moon above;
I have no home, am hungry, feeble, poor:”—
“I'm really very sorry, but I can
Do nothing for you, there's the clergyman,”—
The Lady said, and shivering closed the door.

Who standeth at the gate?—Way-worn and pale,
A grey-haired man asks charity again:
“Kind Lady, I have journeyed far, and fail
Thro' weariness; for I have begged in vain
Some shelter, and can find no lodging-place:”—
She answered: “There's the Workhouse very near,
Go, for they'll certainly receive you there:”—
Then shut the door against his pleading face.

Who standeth at the gate?—a stunted child,
Her sunk eyes sharpened with precocious care:
“O Lady, save me from a home defiled,
From shameful sights and sounds that taint the air.
Take pity on me, teach me something good;”—
“For shame, why don't you work instead of cry?—

I keep no young impostors here, not I;”—
She slammed the door, indignant where she stood.

Who standeth at the gate, and will be heard?—
Arise, O woman, from thy comforts now:
Go forth again to speak the careless word,
The cruel word unjust, with hardened brow.
But Who is This, That standeth not to pray
As once, but terrible to judge thy sin?
This, Whom thou wouldst not succour, nor take in,
Nor teach, but leave to perish by the way?—

“Thou didst it not unto the least of these,
And in them hast not done it unto Me.
Thou wast as a princess, rich and at ease,
Now sit in dust and howl for poverty.
Three times I stood beseeching at thy gate,
Three times I came to bless thy soul and save:
But now I come to judge for what I gave,
And now at length thy sorrow is too late.”

[Gianni my friend and I both strove to excel]

Gianni my friend and I both strove to excel,
But, missing better, settled down in well.
Both fail, indeed; but not alike we fail—
My forte being Venus' face, and his a dragon's tail.

The Offering of the New Law, the One Oblation once Offered.

“Sacrifice and Offering Thou wouldest not, but a BODY hast Thou prepared Me.”

Once I thought to sit so high
In the Palace of the sky;
Now I thank God for His Grace,
If I may fill the lowest place.

Once I thought to scale so soon
Heights above the changing moon;

Now I thank God for delay—
Today, it yet is called today.

While I stumble, halt and blind,
Lo! He waiteth to be kind;
Bless me soon, or bless me slow,
Except He bless, I let not go.

Once for earth I laid my plan,
Once I leaned on strength of man,
When my hope was swept aside,
I stayed my broken heart on pride:

Broken reed hath pierced my hand;
Fell my house I built on sand;
Roofless, wounded, maimed by sin,
Fightings without, and fears within:

Yet, a tree, He feeds my root;
Yet, a branch, He prunes for fruit;
Yet, a sheep, these eves and morns,
He seeks for me among the thorns.

With Thine Image stamped of old,
Find Thy coin more choice than gold;
Known to Thee by name, recall
To Thee Thy home-sick prodigal.

Sacrifice and Offering
None there is that I can bring;
None, save what is Thine alone:
I bring Thee, Lord, but of Thine Own—

Broken Body, Blood Outpoured,
These I bring, my God, my Lord;
Wine of Life, and Living Bread,
With these for me Thy Board is spread.

The eleventh hour.

Faint and worn and aged
One stands knocking at a gate,

Tho' no light shines in the casement,
Knocking tho' so late.
It has struck eleven
In the courts of Heaven,
Yet he still doth knock and wait.

While no answer cometh
From the heavenly hill,
Blessed Angels wonder
At his earnest will.
Hope and fear but quicken
While the shadows thicken;
He is knocking knocking still.

Grim the gate unopened
Stands with bar and lock,
Yet within the unseen Porter
Hearkens to the knock.
Doing and undoing,
Faint and yet pursuing,
This man's feet are on the Rock.

With a cry unceasing
Knocketh prayeth he:—
“Lord, have mercy on me
“When I cry to Thee.”—
With a knock unceasing
And a cry increasing:—
“O my Lord, remember me.”

Still the Porter standeth,
Love-constrained He standeth near,
While the cry increaseth
Of that love and fear:—
“Jesus look upon me;
“Christ hast Thou foregone me?
“If I must, I perish here.”—

Faint the knocking ceases,
Faint the cry and call:
Is he lost indeed for ever,

Shut without the wall?—
Mighty Arms surround him,
Arms that sought and found him,
Held withheld and bore thro' all.—

O celestial mansion
Open wide the door:
Crown and robes of whiteness,
Stone inscribed before,
Flocking Angels bear them;
Stretch thy hand and wear them,
Sit thou down for evermore.

I know you not.

O Christ the Vine with living Fruit,
The twelvefold fruited Tree of Life,
The Balm in Gilead after strife,
The valley Lily and the Rose:
Stronger than Lebanon, Thou Root,
Sweeter than clustered grapes, Thou Vine;
Oh Best, Thou Vineyard of red Wine
Keeping Thy best Wine till the close.

Pearl of great price Thyself alone
And ruddier than the ruby Thou,
Most precious lightening Jasper Stone,
Head of the corner spurned before;
Fair Gate of pearl, Thyself the Door,
Clear golden Street, Thyself the Way,
By Thee we journey toward Thee now
Thro' Thee shall enter Heaven one day.

I thirst for Thee, full Fount and Flood,
My heart calls Thine as deep to deep:
Dost Thou forget Thy sweat and pain,
Thy provocation on the Cross?
Heart pierced for me, vouchsafe to keep
The purchase of Thy lavished Blood;

The gain is Thine Lord if I gain,
Or if I lose Thine Own the loss.

At midnight, saith the parable,
A cry was made, the Bridegroom came:
Those who were ready entered in;
The rest shut out in death and shame
Strove all too late that feast to win
Their die was cast and fixed their lot,
A gulph divided heaven from hell,
The Bridegroom said, ‘I know you not.’

But Who is This That shuts the door
And saith ‘I know you not’ to them?
I see the wounded Hands and Side,
The Brow thorn-tortured long ago:
Yea, This Who grieved and bled and died,
This Same is He Who must condemn;
He called, but they refused to know,
So now He hears their cry no more.

A Christmas Carol.

Before the paling of the stars
Before the winter morn
Before the earliest cockcrow
Jesus Christ was born:
Born in a stable
Cradled in a manger,
In the world His Hands had made
Born a Stranger.

Priest and King lay fast asleep
In Jerusalem,
Young and Old lay fast asleep
In crowded Bethlehem:
Saint and Angel Ox and Ass
Kept a watch together

Before the Christmas daybreak
In the winter weather.

Jesus on His Mother's breast
In the stable cold,
Spotless Lamb of God was He
Shepherd of the Fold:
Let us kneel with Mary Maid
With Joseph bent and hoary
With Saint and Angel Ox and Ass
To hail the King of Glory.

Easter Even.

There is nothing more that they can do
For all their rage and boast;
Caiaphas with his blaspheming crew,
Herod with his host,

Pontius Pilate in his judgment hall
Judging their Judge and his,
Or he who led them all and passed them all
Arch-Judas with his kiss.

The sepulchre made sure with ponderous stone
Seal that same stone, O priest;
It may be thou shalt block the Holy One
From rising in the east:

Set a watch about the sepulchre
To watch on pain of death;
They must hold fast the stone if One should stir
And shake it from beneath.

God Almighty He can break a seal,
And roll away a stone;
Can grind the proud in dust who would not kneel,
And crush the mighty one.

There is nothing more that they can do
For all their passionate care,
Those who sit in dust, the blessed few,
And weep and rend their hair.

Peter, Thomas, Mary Magdalen,
The Virgin unreproved,
Joseph with Nicodemus foremost men,
And John the well-beloved.

Bring your finest linen and your spice,
Swathe the Sacred Dead,
Bind with careful hands and piteous eyes
The napkin round His Head;

Lay Him in the garden rock to rest;
Rest you the Sabbath length:
The Sun That went down crimson in the west
Shall rise renewed in strength.

God Almighty shall give joy for pain,
Shall comfort him who grieves:
Lo, He with joy shall doubtless come again
And with Him bring His sheaves.

Come unto Me.

Oh for the time gone by when thought of Christ
Made His yoke easy and His burden light;
When my heart stirred within me at the sight
Of Altar spread for awful Eucharist;
When all my hopes His promises sufficed;
When my soul watched for Him by day by night;
When my lamp lightened, and my robe was white,
And all seemed loss except the Pearl unpriced.
Yet since He calls me still with tender call,
Since He remembers Whom I half forgot,
I even will run my race and bear my lot:
For Faith the walls of Jericho cast down,

And Hope to whoso runs holds forth a crown,
And Love is Christ, and Christ is All in all.

Ash Wednesday.

Jesus, do I love Thee?
Thou art far above me,
Seated out of sight
Hid in heavenly light
Of most highest height.
Martyred hosts implore Thee,
Seraphs fall before Thee,
Angels and Archangels,
Cherub throngs adore Thee;
Blessed she that bore Thee!—
All the Saints approve Thee,
All the Virgins love Thee.
I show as a blot
Blood hath cleansed not,
As a barren spot
In Thy fruitful lot.
I, figtree fruit-unbearing,
Thou, Righteous Judge unsparing:
What canst Thou do more to me
That shall not more undo me?
Thy Justice hath a sound:
“Why cumbereth it the ground?”
Thy Love with stirrings stronger
Pleads: “Give it one year longer.”
Thou giv'st me time: but who
Save Thou, shall give me dew,
Shall feed my root with Blood
And stir my sap for good?—
Oh by Thy gifts that shame me
Give more lest they condemn me:
Good Lord, I ask much of Thee,
But most I ask to love Thee:

Kind Lord, be mindful of me,
Love me and make me love Thee.

SPRING FANCIES.

I.

Gone were but the Winter,
Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
Where the birds sing
Ding ding, ding a ding.

Where in the whitethorn
Singeth the thrush,
And the robin sings
In a holly bush
With his breast ablush.

Full of fresh scents
Are the budding boughs,
Arching high over
A cool green house
Where doves coo the arouse.

There the sun shineth
Most shadily;
There sounds an echo
Of the far sea,
Tho' far off it be.

II.

All the world is out in leaf,
Half the world in flower,
Faint the rainbow comes and goes
In a sunny shower;
Earth has waited weeks and weeks
For this special hour.

All the world is making love;
Bird to bird in bushes,
Beast to beast in glades, and frog
To frog among the rushes:
Wake, O south wind sweet with spice
Wake the rose to blushes.

All the world is full of change;
Tomorrow may be dreary:
Life breaks forth, to right and left
Pipe the woodnotes cheery—
Nevertheless there lie the dead
Fast asleep and weary—

III.

If it's weary work to live,
It will rest us to lie dead,
With a stone at the tired feet
And a stone at the tired head.

In the waxing April days
Half the world will stir and sing,
But half the world will slug and rot
For all the sap of spring.

“LAST NIGHT.”

Where were you last night? I watched at the gate;
I went down early, I stayed down late.
Were you snug at home, I should like to know,
Or were you in the coppice wheedling Kate?

She's a fine girl, with a fine clear skin;
Easy to woo, perhaps not hard to win.
Speak up like a man and tell me the truth:
I'm not one to grow downhearted and thin.

If you love her best speak up like a man;
It's not I will stand in the light of your plan:

Some girls might cry and scold you a bit
And say they couldn't bear it; but I can.

Love was pleasant enough, and the days went fast;
Pleasant while it lasted, but it needn't last;
Awhile on the wax and awhile on the wane,
Now dropped away into the past.

Was it pleasant to you? to me it was;
Now clean gone as an image from glass,
As a goodly rainbow that fades away,
As dew that steams upwards from the grass,

As the first spring day, or the last summer day,
As the sunset flush that leaves heaven grey,
As a flame burnt out for lack of oil
Which no pains relight or ever may.

Good luck to Kate and good luck to you,
I guess she'll be kind when you come to woo;
I wish her a pretty face that will last,
I wish her a husband steady and true.

Hate you? not I, my very good friend;
All things begin and all have an end.
But let broken be broken; I put no faith
In quacks who set up to patch and mend.

Just my love and one word to Kate:
Not to let time slip if she means to mate;—
For even such a thing has been known
As to miss the chance while we weigh and wait.

PETER GRUMP.

If underneath the water
You comb your golden hair
With a golden comb, my daughter,
Oh, would that I were there.

If underneath the wave
You fill a slimy grave,
Would that I, who could not save,
Might share.

FORSS.

If my love Hero queens it
In summer Fairyland,
What would I be
But the ring on her hand?
Her cheek when she leans it
Would lean on me:—
Or sweet, bitter-sweet,
The flower that she wore
When we parted, to meet
On the hither shore
Anymore? nevermore.

Helen Grey.

Because one loves you, Helen Grey,
Is that a reason you should pout
And like a March wind veer about
And frown and say your shrewish say?
Don't strain the cord until it snaps,
Don't split the sound heart with your wedge,
Don't cut your fingers with the edge
Of your keen wit: you may perhaps.

Because you're handsome, Helen Grey,
Is that a reason to be proud?
Your eyes are bold, your laugh is loud,
Your steps go mincing on their way:
But so you miss that modest charm
Which is the surest charm of all;
Take heed; you yet may trip and fall,
And no man care to stretch his arm.

Stoop from your cold height, Helen Grey,
Come down and take a lowlier place;
Come down to fill it now with grace;
Come down you must perforce some day:
For years cannot be kept at bay,
And fading years will make you old;
Then in their turn will men seem cold,
When you yourself are nipped and grey.

If.

If he would come today today today,
Oh what a day today would be;
But now he's away, miles and miles away
From me across the sea.

O little bird flying flying flying
To your nest in the warm west,
Tell him as you pass that I am dying,
As you pass home to your nest.

I have a sister, I have a brother,
A faithful hound, a tame white dove;
But I had another, once I had another,
And I miss him my love, my love.

In this weary world it is so cold so cold
While I sit here all alone
I would not like to wait and to grow old
But just to be dead and gone.

Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed,
Fair where I am lying;
Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead
He for whom I am dying.

Dig my grave for two with a stone to show it
And on the stone write my name:
If he never comes I shall never know it
But sleep on all the same.

Seasons.

Oh the cheerful budding-time
When thorn-hedges turn to green;
When new leaves of elm and lime
Cleave and shed their winter screen:
Tender lambs are born and baa,
North wind finds no snow to bring,
Vigorous nature laughs Haha
In the miracle of spring.

Oh the gorgeous blossom-days
When broad flag-flowers drink and blow;
In and out in summer blaze
Dragonflies flash to and fro:
Ashen branches hang out keys,
Oaks put forth the rosy shoot,
Wandering herds wax sleek at ease,
Lovely blossoms end in fruit.

Oh the shouting harvest-weeks:
Mother Earth grown fat with sheaves;
Thrifty gleaner finds who seeks:
Russet golden pomp of leaves
Crowns the woods, to fall at length;
Bracing winds are felt to stir,
Ocean gathers up her strength,
Beasts renew their dwindled fur.

Oh the starving winter-lapse,
Ice-bound, hunger-pinched and dim:
Dormant roots recal their saps,
Empty nests show black and grim,
Short-lived sunshine gives no heat,
Undue buds are nipped by frost,
Snow sets forth a windingsheet
And all hope of life seems lost.

HENRY HARDIMAN,

Aged 55.

Affliction sore long time he bore,
Physicians were in vain,
Till God did please his soul release,
And ease him of his pain.

Within the Veil.

She holds a lily in her hand,
Where long ranks of Angels stand;
A silver lily for her wand.

All her hair falls sweeping down,
Her hair that is a golden brown;
A crown beneath her golden crown.

Blooms a rose-bush at her knee,
Good to smell and good to see;
It bears a rose for her, for me:

Her rose a blossom richly grown,
My rose a bud not fully blown
But sure one day to be mine own.

Paradise: in a Symbol.

Golden-winged, silver-winged,
Winged with flashing flame,
Such a flight of birds I saw,
Birds without a name:
Singing songs in their own tongue
(Song of songs) they came.

One to another calling,
Each answering each,
One to another calling
In their proper speech:

High above my head they wheeled,
Far out of reach.

On wings of flame they went and came
With a cadenced clang,
Their silver wings tinkled,
Their golden wings rang,
The wind it whistled thro' their wings
Where in heaven they sang.

They flashed and they darted
Awhile before mine eyes,
Mounting mounting mounting still
In haste to scale the skies,
Birds without a nest on earth,
Birds of Paradise.

Where the moon riseth not
Nor sun seeks the west,
There to sing their glory
Which they sing at rest,
There to sing their love-song
When they sing their best:

Not in any garden
That mortal foot hath trod,
Not in any flowering tree
That springs from earthly sod,
But in the garden where they dwell
The Paradise of God.

[In July]

In July
No goodbye;
In Augùst
Part we must.

[Love hath a name of Death]

Love hath a name of Death:
He gives a breath
And takes away.

Lo we beneath his sway
Grow like a flower;
To bloom an hour,
To droop a day,
And fade away.

[Alas my Lord]

Alas my Lord,
How should I wrestle all the livelong night
With Thee my God, my Strength and my Delight?

How can it need
So agonized an effort and a strain
To make Thy Face of Mercy shine again?

How can it need
Such wringing out of breathless prayer to move
Thee to Thy wonted Love, when Thou art Love?

Yet Abraham
So hung about Thine Arm outstretched and bared,
That for ten righteous Sodom had been spared.

Yet Jacob did
So hold Thee by the clenched hand of prayer
That he prevailed, and Thou didst bless him there.

Elias prayed,
And sealed the founts of Heaven; he prayed again
And lo, Thy Blessing fell in showers of rain.

Gulped by the fish,
As by the pit, lost Jonah made his moan;
And Thou forgavest, waiting to atone.

All Nineveh
Fasting and girt in sackcloth raised a cry,
Which moved Thee ere the day of grace went by.

Thy Church prayed on
And on for blessed Peter in his strait,
Till opened of its own accord the gate.

Yea, Thou my God
Hast prayed all night, and in the garden prayed
Even while, like melting wax, Thy strength was made.

Alas for him
Who faints, despite Thy Pattern, King of Saints:
Alas, alas, for me, the one that faints.

Lord, give us strength
To hold Thee fast, until we hear Thy Voice
Which Thine own know, who hearing It rejoice.

Lord, give us strength
To hold Thee fast until we see Thy Face,
Full Fountain of all Rapture and all Grace.

But when our strength
Shall be made weakness, and our bodies clay,
Hold Thou us fast, and give us sleep till day.

AN ALPHABET.

A is the Alphabet, A at its head;
A is an Antelope, agile to run.
B is the Baker Boy bringing the bread,
Or black Bear and brown Bear, both begging for bun.

C is a Cornflower come with the corn;
C is a Cat with a comical look.
D is a dinner which Dahlias adorn;
D is a Duchess who dines with a Duke.

E is an elegant eloquent Earl;
E is an Egg whence an Eaglet emerges.

F is a Falcon, with feathers to furl;
F is a Fountain of full foaming surges.

G is the Gander, the Gosling, the Goose;
G is a Garnet in girdle of gold.
H is a Heartsease, harmonious of hues;
H is a huge Hammer, heavy to hold.

I is an Idler who idles on ice;
I am I—who will say I am not I?
J is a Jacinth, a jewel of price;
J is a Jay, full of joy in July.

K is a King, or a Kaiser still higher;
K is a Kitten, or quaint Kangaroo.
L is a Lute or a lovely-toned Lyre;
L is a Lily all laden with dew.

M is a Meadow where Meadowsweet blows;
M is a Mountain made dim by a mist.
N is a Nut—in a nutshell it grows—
Or a Nest full of Nightingales singing—oh list!

O is an Opal, with only one spark;
O is an Olive, with oil on its skin.
P is a Pony, a pet in a park;
P is the Point of a Pen or a Pin.

Q is a Quail, quick-chirping at morn;
Q is a Quince quite ripe and near dropping.
R is a Rose, rosy red on a thorn;
R is a red-breasted Robin come hopping.

S is a Snow-storm that sweeps o'er the Sea;
S is the Song that the swift Swallows sing.
T is the Tea-table set out for tea;
T is a Tiger with terrible spring.

U, the Umbrella, went up in a shower;
Or Unit is useful with ten to unite.
V is a Violet veined in the flower;
V is a Viper of venomous bite.

W stands for the water-bred Whale;
Stands for the wonderful Wax-work so gay.
X, or XX, or XXX is ale,
Or Policeman X, exercised day after day.

Y is a yellow Yacht, yellow its boat;
Y is the Yucca, the Yam, or the Yew.
Z is a Zebra, zigzagged his coat,
Or Zebu, or Zoöphyte, seen at the Zoo.

Husband and Wife.

“Oh kiss me once before I go,
“To make amends for sorrow;
“Oh kiss me once before we part
“Who shall not meet tomorrow.

“And I was wrong to urge your will,
“And wrong to mar your life;
“But kiss me once before we part,
“Because you are my wife.”

She turned her head and tossed her head
And puckered up her brow:
“I never kissed you yet,” said she,
“And I'll not kiss you now.

“Tho' I'm your wife by might and right
“And forsworn marriage vow,
“I never loved you yet,” said she,
“And I don't love you now.”

So he went sailing on the sea,
And she sat crossed and dumb
While he went sailing on the sea
Where the storm winds come.

He'd been away a month and day
Counting from morn to morn:

And many buds had turned to leaves
And many lambs were born

And many buds had turned to flowers
For Spring was in a glow,
When she was laid upon her bed
As white and cold as snow.

“Oh let me kiss my baby once,
“Once before I die;
“And bring it sometimes to my grave
“To teach it where I lie.

“And tell my husband when he comes
“Safe home from sea,
“To love the baby that I leave
“If ever he loved me:

“And tell him, not for might or right
“Or forsworn marriage vow
“But for the helpless baby's sake,
“I would have kissed him now.”

MICHAEL F. M. ROSSETTI.

Born April 22nd, 1881; Died January 24th, 1883.

A holy Innocent gone home
Without so much as one sharp wounding word:
A blessed Michael in heaven's lofty dome
Without a sword.

Brief dawn and noon and setting time!
Our rapid-rounding moon has fled:
A black eclipse before the prime
Has swallowed up that shining head.
Eternity holds up her lookingglass:—
The eclipse of Time will pass,
And all that lovely light return to sight.

I watch the showers and think of flowers:
Alas, my flower that shows no fruit!
My snowdrop plucked, my daisy shoot
Plucked from the root.

Soon Spring will shower, the world will flower,
A world of buds will promise fruit,
Pear trees will shoot and apples shoot
Sound at the root.

Bud of an hour, far off you flower;
My bud, far off you ripen fruit;
My prettiest bud, my straightest shoot
Sweet at the root.

The youngest bud of five,
The least lamb of the fold,—
Bud not to blossom, yet to thrive
Away from cold.

Lamb which we shall not see
Leap at its pretty pranks,
Our lamb at rest and full of glee
On heavenly banks.

A SICK CHILD'S MEDITATION

Pain and weariness, aching eyes and head,
Pain and weariness all the day and night:
Yet the pillow's soft on my smooth soft bed,
And fresh air blows in, and mother shades the light.

Thou, O Lord, in pain hadst no pillow soft,
In Thy weary pain, in Thine agony:
But a cross of shame held Thee up aloft
Where Thy very mother could do nought for Thee.

I would gaze on Thee, on Thy patient face;
Make me like Thyself, patient, sweet, at peace;

Make my days all love, and my nights all praise,
Till all days and nights and patient sufferings cease.

[Love is all happiness, love is all beauty]

Love is all happiness, love is all beauty,
Love is the crown of flaxen heads and hoary,
Love is the only everlasting duty,
And love is chronicled in endless story
And kindles endless glory.

[A handy Mole who plied no shovel]

A handy Mole who plied no shovel
To excavate his vaulted hovel,
While hard at work met in mid-furrow
An Earthworm boring out his burrow.
Our Mole had dined and must grow thinner
Before he gulped a second dinner,
And on no other terms cared he
To meet a worm of low degree.
The Mole turned on his blindest eye
Passing that base mechanic by;
The Worm entrenched in actual blindness
Ignored or kindness or unkindness;
Each wrought his own exclusive tunnel
To reach his own exclusive funnel.

A plough its flawless track pursuing
Involved them in one common ruin.
Where now the mine and countermine,
The dined-on and the one to dine?
The impartial ploughshare of extinction
Annulled them all without distinction.

“One swallow does not make a summer.”

A Rose which spied one swallow
Made haste to blush and blow:
“Others are sure to follow:”
Ah no, not so!

The wandering clouds still owe
A few fresh flakes of snow,
Chill fog must fill the hollow,
Before the bird-stream flow
In flood across the main
And winter's woe
End in glad summer come again.
Then thousand flowers may blossom by the shore,
But that Rose never more.

[Contemptuous of his home beyond]

Contemptuous of his home beyond
The village and the village pond,
A large-souled Frog who spurned each byeway,
Hopped along the imperial highway.

Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Could disconcert so great a frog.
The morning dew was lingering yet
His sides to cool, his tongue to wet;
The night dew when the night should come
A travelled frog would send him home.

Not so, alas! the wayside grass
Sees him no more:—not so, alas!

A broadwheeled waggon unawares
Ran him down, his joys, his cares.
From dying choke one feeble croak
The Frog's perpetual silence broke:
“Ye buoyant Frogs, ye great and small,
Even I am mortal after all.
My road to Fame turns out a wry way:
I perish on this hideous highway,—
Oh for my old familiar byeway!”

The choking Frog sobbed and was gone:
The waggoner strode whistling on.

Unconscious of the carnage done,
Whistling that waggoner strode on,
Whistling (it may have happened so)

“A Froggy would a-wooing go:”
A hypothetic frog trolled he
Obtuse to a reality.

O rich and poor, O great and small,
Such oversights beset us all:
The mangled frog abides incog,
The uninteresting actual frog;
The hypothetic frog alone
Is the one frog we dwell upon.

A Word for the Dumb.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old Dog
Who wags his tail a-begging in his need:
Despise not even the sorrows of a Frog,
God's creature too, and that's enough to plead:
Spare Puss who trusts us purring on our hearth:
Spare Bunny once so frisky and so free:
Spare all the harmless tenants of the earth:
Spare, and be spared:—or who shall plead for thee?

CARDINAL NEWMAN.

“In the grave, whither thou goest.”

O weary Champion of the Cross, lie still:
Sleep thou at length the all-embracing sleep:
Long was thy sowing day, rest now and reap:
Thy fast was long, feast now thy spirit's fill.
Yea, take thy fill of love, because thy will
Chose love not in the shallows but the deep:
Thy tides were springtides, set against the neap
Of calmer souls: thy flood rebuked their rill.
Now night has come to thee—please God, of rest:
So some time must it come to every man;

To first and last, where many last are first.
Now fixed and finished thine eternal plan,
Thy best has done its best, thy worst its worst:
Thy best its best, please God, thy best its best.

An Echo from Willowwood.

“O ye, all ye that walk in Willowwood.”
D. G. Rossetti.

Two gazed into a pool, he gazed and she,
Not hand in hand, yet heart in heart, I think,
Pale and reluctant on the water's brink,
As on the brink of parting which must be.
Each eyed the other's aspect, she and he,
Each felt one hungering heart leap up and sink,
Each tasted bitterness which both must drink,
There on the brink of life's dividing sea.
Lilies upon the surface, deep below
Two wistful faces craving each for each,
Resolute and reluctant without speech:—
A sudden ripple made the faces flow
One moment joined, to vanish out of reach:
So those hearts joined, and ah! were parted so.

“YEA, I HAVE A GOODLY HERITAGE.”

My vineyard that is mine I have to keep,
Pruning for fruit the pleasant twigs and leaves.
Tend thou thy cornfield: one day thou shalt reap
In joy thy ripened sheaves.

Or if thine be an orchard, graft and prop
Food-bearing trees each watered in its place:
Or if a garden, let it yield for crop
Sweet herbs and herb of grace.

But if my lot be sand where nothing grows?—
Nay, who hath said it? Tune a thankful psalm:
For tho' thy desert bloom not as the rose,
It yet can rear thy palm.

A Death of a First-born.

January 14th, 1892.

One young life lost, two happy young lives blighted,
With earthward eyes we see:
With eyes uplifted, keener, farther-sighted,
We look, O Lord, to Thee.

Grief hears a funeral knell: hope hears the ringing
Of birthday bells on high;
Faith, hope, and love make answer with soft singing,
Half carol and half cry.

Stoop to console us, Christ, Sole Consolation,
While dust returns to dust;
Until that blessed day when all Thy Nation
Shall rise up of the Just.

“FAINT, YET PURSUING.”

1.

Beyond this shadow and this turbulent sea,
Shadow of death and turbulent sea of death,
Lies all we long to have or long to be:—
Take heart, tired man, toil on with lessening breath,
Lay violent hands on heaven's high treasury,
Be what you long to be thro' life-long scathe:
A little while hope leans on charity,
A little while charity heartens faith.
A little while: and then what further while?
One while that ends not and that wearies not,
For ever new whilst evermore the same:
All things made new bear each a sweet new name;

Man's lot of death has turned to life his lot,
And tearful charity to love's own smile.

2.

Press onward, quickened souls, who mounting move,
Press onward, upward, fire with mounting fire;
Gathering volume of untold desire
Press upward, homeward, dove with mounting dove.
Point me the excellent way that leads above;
Woo me with sequent will, me too to aspire;
With sequent heart to follow higher and higher,
To follow all who follow on to love.
Up the high steep, across the golden sill,
Up out of shadows into very light,
Up out of dwindling life to life aglow,
I watch you, my beloved, out of sight;—
Sight fails me, and my heart is watching still:
My heart fails, yet I follow on to know.

[What will it be, O my soul, what will it be]

What will it be, O my soul, what will it be
To touch the long-raced-for goal, to handle and see,
To rest in the joy of joys, in the joy of the blest,
To rest and revive and rejoice, to rejoice and to rest!

[Lord, Thou art fulness, I am emptiness]

Lord, Thou art fulness, I am emptiness:
Yet hear my heart speak in its speechlessness
Extolling Thine unuttered loveliness.

[O Lord, I cannot plead my love of Thee]

O Lord, I cannot plead my love of Thee:
I plead Thy love of me;—
The shallow conduit hails the unfathomed sea.

[Faith and Hope are wings to Love]

Faith and Hope are wings to Love,
Silver wings to golden dove.

A SORROWFUL SIGH OF A PRISONER.

Lord, comest Thou to me?
My heart is cold and dead:
Alas that such a heart should be
The place to lay Thy head!

[“I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow”—]

“I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow”—
Yea, scarlet woman, today: but not yea at all tomorrow.
Scarlet queen on a scarlet throne all today without sorrow,
Bethink thee: today must end; there is no end of tomorrow.

[Passing away the bliss]

Passing away the bliss,
The anguish passing away:
Thus it is
Today.

Clean past away the sorrow,
The pleasure brought back to stay:
Thus and this
Tomorrow.

[Love builds a nest on earth and waits for rest]

Love builds a nest on earth and waits for rest,
Love sends to heaven the warm heart from its breast,
Looks to be blest and is already blest,
And testifies: “God's Will is alway best.”

[Jesus alone:—if thus it were to me]

Jesus alone:—if thus it were to me;
Yet thus it cannot be;
Lord, I have all things if I have but Thee.

Jesus and all:—precious His bounties are,
Yet He more precious far;
Day's-eyes are many, one the Morning Star.

Jesus my all:—so let me rest in love,
Thy peaceable poor dove,
Some time below till timeless time above.

The Way of the World.

A boat that sails upon the sea;
Sails far and far and far away:
Who sail in her sing songs of glee,
Or watch and pray.

A boat that drifts upon the sea
Silent and void to sun and air:
Who sailed in her have ended glee
And watch and prayer.

BOOKS IN THE RUNNING BROOKS.

“It is enough, enough,” one said,
At play among the flowers:
“I spy a rose upon the thorn,
A rainbow in the showers;
I hear a merry chime of bells
Ring out the passing hours.”—
Soft springs the fountain
From the daisied ground:
Softly falling on the moss
Without a sound.

“It is enough,” she said, and fixed
Calm eyes upon the sky:
“I watch a flitting tender cloud
Just like a dove go by;
A lark is rising from the grass;
A wren is building nigh.”—
Softly the fountain
Threads its silver way,

Screened by the scented bloom
Of whitest may.

“Enough?” she whispered to herself,
As doubting: “Is it so?
Enough to wear the roses fair?
Oh sweetest flowers that blow:—
Oh yes, it surely is enough,
My happy home below.”—
A shadow stretcheth
From the hither shore:
Those waters darken
More and more and more.

“It is enough,” she says; but with
A listless, weary moan:
“Enough,” if mixing with her friends;
“Enough,” if left alone.
But to herself: “Not yet enough,
This suffering, to atone?”—
The cold black waters
Seem to stagnate there;
Without a single wave,
Or breath of air.

And now she says: “It is enough,”
Half languid and half stirred:
“Enough,” to silence and to sound,
Thorn, blossom, soaring bird:
“Enough,” she says; but with a lack
Of something in the word.—
Defiled and turbid
See the waters pass;
Half light, half shadow,
Struggling thro' the grass.

Ah, will it ever dawn, that day
When calm for good or ill
Her heart shall say: “It is enough,
For Thou art with me still;

It is enough, O Lord my God,
Thine only blessed Will.”—
Then shall the fountain sing
And flow to rest;
Clear as the sun track
To the purple West.

GONE BEFORE

She was most like a rose, when it flushes rarest;
She was most like a lily, when it blows fairest;
She was most like a violet, sweetest on the bank:
Now she's only like the snow cold and blank
After the sun sank.

She left us in the early days, she would not linger
For orange blossoms in her hair, or ring on finger:
Did she deem windy grass more good than these?
Now the turf that's between us and the hedging trees
Might as well be seas.

I had trained a branch she shelters not under,
I had reared a flower she snapped asunder:
In the bush and on the stately bough
Birds sing; she who watched them track the plough
Cannot hear them now.

Every bird has a nest hidden somewhere
For itself and its mate and joys that come there,
Tho' it soar to the clouds, finding there its rest:
You sang in the height, but no more with eager breast
Stoop to your own nest.

If I could win you back from heaven-gate lofty,
Perhaps you would but grieve returning softly:
Surely they would miss you in the blessed throng,
Miss your sweet voice in their sweetest song,
Reckon time too long.

Earth is not good enough for you, my sweet, my sweetest;
Life on earth seemed long to you tho' to me fleetest.
I would not wish you back if a wish would do:
Only love I long for heaven with you
Heart-pierced thro' and thro'.