The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti A variorum edition: Edited, with textual notes and introductions, by R. W. Crump |
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BOOKS IN THE RUNNING BROOKS. |
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 | The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti |  |
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.
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.
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,
58
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.
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.
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.
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.
When calm for good or ill
Her heart shall say: “It is enough,
For Thou art with me still;
59
Thine only blessed Will.”—
Then shall the fountain sing
And flow to rest;
Clear as the sun track
To the purple West.
| The Complete Poems of Christina Rossetti | |