Christina Rossetti Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Christina Rossetti. Here they are! All 100 of them:

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One day in the country Is worth a month in town
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Christina Rossetti
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For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market and Other Poems (Dover Thrift Editions: Poetry))
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Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart; My silent heart, lie still and break: Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed For a dream's sake.
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Christina Rossetti
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Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you call’d them sweet?
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Christina Rossetti (Poems of Christina Rossetti)
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What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow. What are brief? today and tomorrow. What are frail? spring blossoms and youth. What are deep? the ocean and truth.
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Christina Rossetti
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We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market and Other Poems (Dover Thrift Editions: Poetry))
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When I Am Dead, My Dearest When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress-tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love Divine; Love was born at Christmas; Star and angels gave the sign.
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Christina Rossetti
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Better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad
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Christina Rossetti (Pre-Raphaelite Poetry: An Anthology (Dover Thrift Editions))
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Choose love not in the shallows but in the deep.
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Christina Rossetti
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Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their head, The wind is passing by.
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Christina Rossetti
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Remember Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more, day by day, You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, Snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.
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Christina Rossetti (The Poetical Works Of Christina Georgina Rossetti)
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Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.
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Christina Rossetti
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My heart is like a singing bird.
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Christina Rossetti
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Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine.
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Christina Rossetti
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I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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And all the winds go sighing, For sweet things dying
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Christina Rossetti
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All things that pass Are wisdom's looking-glass.
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Christina Rossetti
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Remember me when I am gone away, gone far away into the silent land.
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Christina Rossetti
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Fair as the moon and joyful as the light; Tot wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dreams.
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Christina Rossetti
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My heart is breaking for a little love
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Christina Rossetti
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I have no heart?--Perhaps I have not; But then you're mad to take offence That I don't give you what I have not got: Use your own common sense.
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market and Other Poems (Dover Thrift Editions: Poetry))
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Promise me no promises, So will I not promise you: Keep we both our liberties, Never false and never true: Let us hold the die uncast, Free to come as free to go: For I cannot know your past, And of mine what can you know?
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Christina Rossetti
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Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago. ("The Key-Note")
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Christina Rossetti
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A Pause of Thought I looked for that which is not, nor can be, And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth But years must pass before a hope of youth Is resigned utterly. I watched and waited with a steadfast will: And though the object seemed to flee away That I so longed for, ever day by day I watched and waited still. Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more; My expectation wearies and shall cease; I will resign it now and be at peace: Yet never gave it o'er. Sometimes I said: It is an empty name I long for; to a name why should I give The peace of all the days I have to live?-- Yet gave it all the same. Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfit For healthy joy and salutary pain: Thou knowest the chase useless, and again Turnest to follow it.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
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Christina Rossetti
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He feeds upon her face by day and night, And she with true kind eyes looks back on him, Fair as the moon and joyful as the light: Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.
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Christina Rossetti
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She cried, "Laura," up the garden, "Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me; For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.
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Christina Rossetti
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Flint
 An emerald is as green as grass, A ruby red as blood; A sapphire shines as blue as heaven; A flint lies in the mud. A diamond is a brilliant stone, To catch the world’s desire; An opal holds a fiery spark; But a flint holds fire.
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Christina Rossetti
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A Robin said: The Spring will never come, And I shall never care to build again. A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome, My sap will never stir for sun or rain. The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow, I neither care to wax nor care to wane. The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago, Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main. β€” When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest, And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight. Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core. The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest, Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.
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Christina Rossetti
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Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of thoughts that I once had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
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Christina Rossetti
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My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daΓ―s of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
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Christina Rossetti (Poems of Christina Rossetti)
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Good folk, I have no coin, To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse, I have no silver either, And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusy heather.
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market and Other Poems (Dover Thrift Editions: Poetry))
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I'll love him til he loves me best Me best of all, Maude Clare
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Christina Rossetti (Poems of Christina Rossetti)
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Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death; Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low, As long ago, my love, how long ago
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Christina Rossetti
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Who shall tell the lady's grief When her Cat was past relief? Who shall number the hot tears Shed o'er her, beloved for years? Who shall say the dark dismay Which her dying caused that day?
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Christina Rossetti
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Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: 'Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market: A Tale of Two Sisters)
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I charge you at the Judgement make it plain, My love of you was life and not a breath.
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Christina Rossetti
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For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market: A Tale of Two Sisters)
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For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
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Christina Rossetti (Poems of Christina Rossetti)
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Trust me, I have not earned your dear rebuke, I love, as you would have me, God the most; Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost, Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look Unready to forego what I forsook; This say I, having counted up the cost, This, tho' I be the feeblest of God's host, The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook. Yet while I love my God the most, I deem That I can never love you overmuch; I love Him more, so let me love you too; Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such I cannot love you if I love not Him. I cannot love Him if I love not you.
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Christina Rossetti
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Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, Grant me. Father, a servant’s place.
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Christina Rossetti (Poems of Christina Rossetti)
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In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago.
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Christina Rossetti
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Were there no God, we would be in this glorious world with grateful hearts, and no one thank.
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Christina Rossetti
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For all night long I dreamed of you: I woke and prayed against my will, Then slept to dream of you again.
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Christina Rossetti
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I have no heart? Perhaps I have not; / But then you're mad to take offense / That I don't give you what I have not got; / Use your own common sense.
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Christina Rossetti
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Golden head by golden head, Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings, They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem, Like two flakes of new-fall'n snow, Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful kings. Moon and stars gazed in at them, Wind sang to them lullaby, Lumbering owls forbore to fly, Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their rest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest.
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market: A Tale of Two Sisters)
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Spring bursts today, For love is risen and all earth's at play.
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Christina Rossetti
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Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
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Christina Rossetti (Poems of Christina Rossetti)
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For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, I live alone, I look to die alone: Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge, Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back, My heart goes sighing after swallows flown On sometime summer's unreturning track.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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When wombats do inspire/I strike my disused lyre
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Christina Rossetti
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Give me the lowest place: not that I dare Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died That I might live and share Thy glory by Thy side. Give me the lowest place: of if for me That lowest place too high, make one more low Where I may sit and see My God and love Thee so.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands. β€”Christina Rossetti, β€œGoblin Market,” 1862
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Hazel Gaynor (A Memory of Violets: A Novel of London's Flower Sellers)
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Then a hundred sad voices lifted a wail, And a hundred glad voices piped on the gale: 'Time is short, life is short,' they took up the tale: 'Life is sweet, love is sweet, use to-day while you may; Love is sweet, and to-morrow may fail; Love is sweet, use to-day.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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I weep as I have never wept: Oh it was summer when I slept, It's winter now I waken.
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Christina Rossetti (Selected Poems of Christina Rossetti)
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At college, I was told there were four great women novelists in the 19th century – Jane Austen, George Eliot, Charlotte and Emily BrontΓ«. Not one of them led an enviable life – all of them had to sacrifice ludicrously in order to be writers. I wasn't prepared to do that. You could become ill so that you could retreat to the bedroom, avoid your domestic responsibilities and write like Emily Dickinson and Christina Rossetti. You had to forget about writing if you weren't prepared to sacrifice any other things you might want from life, like kids or lovers. It's not like that now.
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Jeanette Winterson
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All others are outside myself; I lock my door and bar them out The turmoil, tedium, gad-about. I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all? If I could once lay down myself, And start self-purged upon the race That all must run ! Death runs apace.
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Christina Rossetti
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Why were you born when the snow was falling? You should have come to the cuckoo's calling, Or when grapes are green in the cluster, Or, at least, when the lithe swallows muster For their far off flying From the summer dying. Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? You should have died at the apples' dropping, When the grasshopper comes to trouble, And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.
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Christina Rossetti
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In an Artist’s Studio One face looks out from all his canvases, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans: We found her hidden just behind those screens, That mirror gave back all her loveliness. A queen in opal or in ruby dress, A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens, A saint, an angel - every canvas means The same one meaning, neither more nor less. He feeds upon her face by day and night, And she with true kind eyes looks back on him, Fair as the moon and joyful as the light: Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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Somewhere or other there must surely be The face not seen, the voice not heard, The heart that not yet - never yet β€” ah me! Made answer to my word. Somewhere or other, may be near or far; Past land and sea, clean out of sight; Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star That tracks her night by night. Somewhere or other, may be far or near; With just a wall, a hedge, between; With just the last leaves of the dying year Fallen on a turf grown green.
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Christina Rossetti
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Evening by evening Among the Brookside rushes, Laura bow'd her head to hear, Lizzie veil'd her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather, With clasping arms and cautioning lips, With tingling cheeks and fingertips. "lie close," Laura said, Pricking up her golden head: "We must not look at Goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: who knows upon the soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?" "Come buy," call the Goblins Hobbling down the glen
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market and Other Poems (Dover Thrift Editions: Poetry))
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A fool I was to sleep at noon, And wake when night is chilly Beneath the comfortless cold moon; A fool to pluck my rose too soon, A fool to snap my lily. My garden-plot I have not kept; Faded and all-forsaken, I weep as I have never wept: Oh it was summer when I slept, It's winter now I waken. Talk what you please of future spring And sun-warm'd sweet to-orrow: Stripp'd bare of hope and everything, No more to laugh, no more to sing, I sit alone with sorrow.
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Christina Rossetti
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O cousin Kate, my love was true, Your love was writ in sand: If he had fooled not me but you, If you had stood where i stand, He'd not have won me with his love, Nor bought me with his land; I would have spit into his face And not have taken his hand. Yet I have a gift you have not got, And seem not like to get: For all your clothes and wedding-ring I've little doubt you fret. My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride, Cling closer, closer yet: Your father would give lands for one to wear his coronet
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Christina Rossetti
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What poets, I cried aloud, as one does in the dusk, what poets they were! In a sort of jealousy, I suppose, for our own age, silly and absurd though these comparisons are, I went on to wonder if honestly one could name two living poets now as great as Tennyson and Christina Rossetti were then. Obviously it is impossible, I thought, looking into those foaming waters, to compare them. The very reason why that poetry excites one to such abandonment, such rapture, is that it celebrates some feeling that one used to have (at luncheon parties before the war perhaps), so that one responds easily, familiarly, without troubling to check the feeling, or to compare it with any that one has now. But the living poets express a feeling that is actually being made and torn out of us at the moment. One does not recognize it in the first place; often for some reason one fears it; one watches it with keenness and compares it jealously and suspiciously with the old feeling that one knew. Hence the difficulty of modern poetry; and it is because of this difficulty that one cannot remember more than two consecutive lines of any good modern poet.
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Virginia Woolf (A Room of One’s Own)
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She had thought of literature all these years (her seclusion, her rank, her sex must be her excuse) as something wild as the wind, hot as fire, swift as lightning; something errant, incalculable, abrupt, and behold, literature was an elderly gentleman in a grey suit talking about duchesses… Orlando then came to the conclusion (opening half-a-dozen books)…that it would be impolitic in the extreme to wrap a ten-pound note round the sugar tongs when Miss Christina Rossetti came to tea…next (here were half-a-dozen invitations to celebrate centenaries by dining) that literature since it all these dinners must be growing very corpulent; next (she was invited to a score of lectures on the Influence of this upon that; the Classical revival; the Romantic survival, and other titles of the same engaging kind) that literature since it listened to all these lectures must be growing very dry; next (here she attended a reception given by a peeress) that literature since it wore all those fur tippets must be growing very respectable; next (here she visited Carlyle’s sound-proof room at Chelsea) that genius since it needed all this coddling must be growing very delicate…
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Virginia Woolf (Orlando)
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For I am bound with fleshly bands, Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope; I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, And catch at hope.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market and Other Poems (Dover Thrift Editions: Poetry))
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I would know Christina Rossetti in a minute but not you.
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Donald Revell (Tantivy)
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He took me in his strong white arms, He bore me on his horse away O'er crag, morass, and hairbreadth pass, But never asked me yea or nay. He held me fast with book and bell, With links of love he makes me stay; Till now I’ve neither heart nor power Nor will nor wish to say him nay.
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Christina Rossetti
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For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. β€”CHRISTINA ROSSETTI, β€œRemember,” 1849.
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Margaret Atwood (Alias Grace)
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Mirage" The hope I dreamed of was a dream, Was but a dream; and now I wake, Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old, For a dream's sake. I hang my harp upon a tree, A weeping willow in a lake; I hang my silent harp there, wrung and snapped For a dream's sake. Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart; My silent heart, lie still and break: Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed For a dream's sake.
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market: A Tale of Two Sisters)
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Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve; For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. β€”CHRISTINA ROSSETTI, β€œRemember,” 1849.
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Margaret Atwood (Alias Grace)
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Echo Come to me in the silence of the night; Come in the speaking silence of a dream; Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright As sunlight on a stream; Come back in tears, O memory, hope, love of finished years. O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet, Whose wakening should have been in Paradise, Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet; Where thirsting longing eyes Watch the slow door That opening, letting in, lets out no more. Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death: Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low As long ago, my love, how long ago
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Christina Rossetti
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Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden, Your young life like mine be wasted, Undone in mine undoing, And ruined in my ruin, Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?'β€” She clung about her sister, Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes, Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth; Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. Her lips began to scorch, That juice was wormwood to her tongue, She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung, Rent all her robe, and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste...
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market: A Tale of Two Sisters)
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obstreperously,β€”
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems)
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Where there are no God, we would be in this glorious world with grateful hearts and no one to thank.
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Christina Rossetti
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Beautiful, delightful, noble, memorable, as is the world, I yet am well content in my shady crevice.
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Christina Rossetti
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We must not look at goblin men
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Christina Rossetti
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My garden-plot I have not kept; Faded and all-forsaken, I weep as I have never wept: Oh it was summer when I slept, It’s winter now I waken.
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Christina Rossetti
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Oh that it were with me As with the flower; Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns: That I might bloom mine hour A rose in spite of thorns.
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Christina Rossetti
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The road to death is life, the gate of life is death,
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Christina Rossetti (Poems)
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Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day’s journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.
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Christina Rossetti (Up-hill)
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My life is like a singing bird.
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Christina Rossetti
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My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea
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Christina Rossetti
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Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by.
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Christina Rossetti
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So tired am I, so weary of to-day, So unrefreshed from foregone weariness, So overburdened by foreseen distress, So lagging and so stumbling on my way, I scarce can rouse myself to watch or pray, To hope, or aim, or toil for more or less,-- Ah, always less and less, even while I press Forward and toil and aim as best I may. Half-starved of soul and heartsick utterly, Yet lift I up my heart and soul and eyes Which fail in looking upward
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Christina Rossetti (Poems - The Original Classic Edition)
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Why were you born when the snow was falling? You should have come to the cuckoo’s calling, Or when grapes are green in the cluster, Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster For their far off flying From summer dying. Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? You should have died at the apples’ dropping, When the grasshopper comes to trouble, And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.
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Christina Rossetti
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Car au soleil comme sous la pluie il n'y a pas de meilleure amie qu'une sΕ“ur, une sΕ“ur avec qui rΓͺver quand on s'ennuie une sΕ“ur pour se retrouver dans la nuit, une sΕ“ur pour nous relever, une sΕ“ur qui donne la force de se soulever.
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Christina Rossetti (Laura, Lizzie et les hommes-gobelins)
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I loved you first: but afterwards your love I loved you first: but afterwards your love Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. Which owes the other most? my love was long, And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; I loved and guessed at you, you construed me And loved me for what might or might not be – Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. For verily love knows not β€˜mine’ or β€˜thine;’ With separate β€˜I’ and β€˜thou’ free love has done, For one is both and both are one in love: Rich love knows nought of β€˜thine that is not mine;’ Both have the strength and both the length thereof, Both of us, of the love which makes us one.
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Christina Rossetti
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O where are you going with your love-locks flowing On the west wind bellowing along this valley track?” β€œThe downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye, We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.” So they two went together in glowing August weather, The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right; And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight. β€œOh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven, Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?” β€œOh, that’s a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous, An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt>” β€œOh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly, Their scent comes rich and sickly?” β€œA scaled and hooded worm.” ”Oh, what’s that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?” β€œOh, that’s a thin dead body which waits the eternal term.” β€œTurn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest: This beaten way thou beatest, I fear is hell’s own track.” β€œNay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting: This downhill path is easy, but there’s no turning back.
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems)
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Should one of us remember, And one of us forget, I wish I knew what each will do– But who can tell as yet?" Should one of us remember, And one of us forget, I promise you what I will do– And I'm content to wait for you, And not be sure as yet.
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Christina Rossetti
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β€” RecuΓ©rdame cuando me haya ido. Me haya ido lejos, a la tierra del silencio. Cuando ya no pueda tenerte de la mano, y tΓΊ hacer que te marchas, pero seguir a mi lado. Cuando ya no me cuentes el dΓ­a a dΓ­a, del futuro que para ti pensabas. Solo, recuΓ©rdame. Pero, si me olvidas un momento, y despuΓ©s vuelve doloroso el recuerdo, no sufras. Solo, olvida. Porque prefiero mil veces, que olvides y sonrΓ­as, a que recuerdes con tristeza. β€” tragΓ³ saliva, para tragarse tambiΓ©n las lΓ‘grimas. β€” Me encantaba la vena feminista de tu padre. Christina Rossetti
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Alice M. Bloom (El reino del suelo (Spanish Edition))
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Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, A silly sheep benighted from the fold, A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot, Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, Athirst and hungering on a barren spot. For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, I live alone, I look to die alone: Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge, Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back, My heart goes sighing after swallows flown On sometime summer’s unreturning track.
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Christina Rossetti
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Song When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. Sir Thomas Wyatt has been credited with introducing the Petrarchan sonnet into the English language. Wyatt's father had been one of Henry VII's Privy Councilors and remained a trusted adviser when Henry VIII came to the throne in 1509. Wyatt followed his father to court, but it seems the young poet may have fallen in love with the king’s mistress, Anne Boleyn. Their acquaintance is certain, although whether or not the two actually shared a romantic relationship remains unknown. But in his poetry, Wyatt called his mistress Anna and there do seem to be correspondences. For instance, this poem might well have been written about the King’s claim on Anne Boleyn:
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Christina Rossetti
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BRIDE SONG Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate; The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait. Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: The frozen fountain would have leaped, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow. Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair, Now these are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; Must wear a veil to shroud her face And the want graven there: Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care? We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seemed never soft to her, Though tossed of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs showed in her locks That used to be so brown. We never heard her speak in haste; Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet. You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep today That she is dead? Lo we who love weep not today, But crown her royal head. Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread.
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Christina Rossetti (Poems of Christina Rossetti)
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The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept And could not hear him; but I heard him say, β€˜Poor child, poor child’: and as he turned away Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm though I am cold.
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Christina Rossetti
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On Keats A garden in a garden: a green spot Where all is green: most fitting slumber-place For the strong man grown weary of a race Soon over. Unto him a goodly lot Hath fallen in fertile ground; there thorns are not, But his own daisies: silence, full of grace, Surely hath shed a quiet on his face: His earth is but sweet leaves that fall and rot. What was his record of himself, ere he Went from us ? Here lies one whose name was writ In water: while the chilly shadows flit Of sweet Saint Agnes' Eve; while basil springs, His name, in every humble heart that sings, Shall be a fountain of love, verily.
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Christina Rossetti
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In an Artist’s Studio One face looks out from all his canvases, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans: We found her hidden just behind those screens, That mirror gave back all her loveliness. A queen in opal or in ruby dress, A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens, A saint, an angel - every canvas means The same one meaning, neither more nor less. He feeds upon her face by day and night, And she with true kind eyes looks back on him, Fair as the moon and joyful as the light: Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.
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Christina Rossetti (The Complete Poems)
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I was a cottage maiden Hardened by sun and air, Contented with my cottage mates, Not mindful I was fair. Why did a great lord find me out, And praise my flaxen hair? Why did a great lord find me out To fill my heart with care? He lured me to his palace homeβ€” Woe's me for joy thereofβ€” 10 To lead a shameless shameful life, His plaything and his love. He wore me like a silken knot, He changed me like a glove; So now I moan, an unclean thing, Who might have been a dove. O Lady Kate, my cousin Kate, You grew more fair than I: He saw you at your father's gate, Chose you, and cast me by. 20 He watched your steps along the lane, Your work among the rye; He lifted you from mean estate To sit with him on high. Because you were so good and pure He bound you with his ring: The neighbours call you good and pure, Call me an outcast thing. Even so I sit and howl in dust, You sit in gold and sing: 30 Now which of us has tenderer heart? You had the stronger wing. O cousin Kate, my love was true, Your love was writ in sand: If he had fooled not me but you, If you stood where I stand, He'd not have won me with his love Nor bought me with his land; I would have spit into his face And not have taken his hand. 40 Yet I've a gift you have not got, And seem not like to get: For all your clothes and wedding-ring I've little doubt you fret. My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride, Cling closer, closer yet: Your father would give lands for one To wear his coronet.
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Christina Rossetti (Goblin Market and Other Poems (Dover Thrift Editions: Poetry))