Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 22

"What do you do there, underground, In the dark hollow? I'm fain to follow.

What do you do there?--what have you found?"--

"What I do there I must not tell; But I have plenty. Kind wife, content ye: It is well with us,--it is well.

"Tender hand hath made our nest; Our fear is ended, our hope is blended With present pleasure, and we have rest."--

"O, but Robin, I'm fain to come, If your present days are so pleasant; For my days are so wearisome.

"Yet I'll dry my tears for your sake: Why should I tease you, who cannot please you Any more with the pains I take?"

MEMORY.

I.

I nursed it in my bosom while it lived, I hid it in my heart when it was dead; In joy I sat alone, even so I grieved Alone and nothing said.

I shut the door to face the naked truth, I stood alone,--I faced the truth alone, Stripped bare of self-regard or forms or ruth Till first and last were shown.

I took the perfect balances and weighed; No shaking of my hand disturbed the poise; Weighed, found it wanting: not a word I said, But silent made my choice.

None know the choice I made; I make it still.

None know the choice I made and broke my heart, Breaking mine idol: I have braced my will Once, chosen for once my part.

I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold, Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live.

My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old, Grows old in which I grieve.

II.

I have a room whereinto no one enters Save I myself alone: There sits a blessed memory on a throne, There my life centres.

While winter comes and goes--O tedious comer!-- And while its nip-wind blows; While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose Of lavish summer.

If any should force entrance he might see there One buried yet not dead, Before whose face I no more bow my head Or bend my knee there;

But often in my worn life's autumn weather I watch there with clear eyes, And think how it will be in Paradise When we're together.

A ROYAL PRINCESS.

I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest, Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast, For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west.

Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore; Me, poor dove, that must not coo,--eagle, that must not soar.

All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow That are costly, out of season as the seasons go.

All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place, Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face.

Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon, Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne; There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone.

Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend-- O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend?

As I am a lofty princess, so my father is A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtilties, Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances.

He has quarrelled with his neighbors, he has scourged his foes; Va.s.sal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes, Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows,

On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state To break the strength of armies and topple down the great: Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate.

My father counting up his strength sets down with equal pen So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men; These for slaughter, these for labor, with the how and when.

Some to work on roads, ca.n.a.ls; some to man his ships; Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips; Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips.

Once it came into my heart and whelmed me like a flood, That these too are men and women, human flesh and blood; Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud.

Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay; On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray, My father frowning at the fare seemed every dish to weigh.

I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place, My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais: A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face;

It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon, Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known, They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne?

The singing men and women sang that night as usual, The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall, A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral.

Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept; My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have wept To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept.

I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on, They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon, They lit my shaded silver lamp and left me there alone.

A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: "Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed; Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread."

So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear, Vulgar, naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear; Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near.

But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark: "There are families out grazing like cattle in the park."

"A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark."

A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day; One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May.

Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp; Voices said: "Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp."

"Howl and stamp?" one answered: "They made free to hurl a stone At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown."

"There's work, then, for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown."

"One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head, Whimpering because a girl had s.n.a.t.c.hed his crust of bread: Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead."

"After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh: "If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff."