Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 27

She came among us from the South And made the North her home awhile Our dimness brightened in her smile, Our tongue grew sweeter in her mouth.

We chilled beside her liberal glow, She dwarfed us by her ampler scale, Her full-blown blossom made us pale, She summer-like and we like snow.

We Englishwomen, trim, correct, All minted in the self-same mould, Warm-hearted but of semblance cold, All-courteous out of self-respect.

She woman in her natural grace, Less trammelled she by lore of school, Courteous by nature not by rule, Warm-hearted and of cordial face.

So for awhile she made her home Among us in the rigid North, She who from Italy came forth And scaled the Alps and crossed the foam.

But if she found us like our sea, Of aspect colourless and chill, Rock-girt; like it she found us still Deep at our deepest, strong and free.

ONCE FOR ALL.

(Margaret.)

I said: This is a beautiful fresh rose.

I said: I will delight me with its scent, Will watch its lovely curve of languishment, Will watch its leaves unclose, its heart unclose.

I said: Old Earth has put away her snows, All living things make merry to their bent, A flower is come for every flower that went In autumn; the sun glows, the south wind blows.

So walking in a garden of delight I came upon one sheltered shadowed nook Where broad leaf shadows veiled the day with night, And there lay snow unmelted by the sun:-- I answered: Take who will the path I took, Winter nips once for all; love is but one.

AUTUMN VIOLETS.

Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring: Or if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves, Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves, Their own, and others dropped down withering; For violets suit when home birds build and sing, Not when the outbound bird a pa.s.sage cleaves; Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves, But when the green world buds to blossoming.

Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth, Love that should dwell with beauty, mirth, and hope: Or if a later sadder love be born, Let this not look for grace beyond its scope, But give itself, nor plead for answering truth-- A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn.

"THEY DESIRE A BETTER COUNTRY."

I.

I would not if I could undo my past, Tho' for its sake my future is a blank; My past for which I have myself to thank, For all its faults and follies first and last.

I would not cast anew the lot once cast, Or launch a second ship for one that sank, Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank, Or break by feasting my perpetual fast.

I would not if I could: for much more dear Is one remembrance than a hundred joys, More than a thousand hopes in jubilee; Dearer the music of one tearful voice That unforgotten calls and calls to me, "Follow me here, rise up, and follow here."

II.

What seekest thou, far in the unknown land?

In hope I follow joy gone on before; In hope and fear persistent more and more, As the dry desert lengthens out its sand.

Whilst day and night I carry in my hand The golden key to ope the golden door Of golden home; yet mine eye weepeth sore, For long the journey is that makes no stand.

And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee?

Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right; One exile holds us both, and we are bound To selfsame home-joys in the land of light.

Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?-- Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound.

III.

A dimness of a glory glimmers here Thro' veils and distance from the s.p.a.ce remote, A faintest far vibration of a note Reaches to us and seems to bring us near; Causing our face to glow with braver cheer, Making the serried mist to stand afloat, Subduing languor with an antidote, And strengthening love almost to cast out fear: Till for one moment golden city walls Rise looming on us, golden walls of home, Light of our eyes until the darkness falls; Then thro' the outer darkness burdensome I hear again the tender voice that calls, "Follow me hither, follow, rise, and come."

A GREEN CORNFIELD.

"And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest."

The earth was green, the sky was blue: I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn;

A stage below, in gay accord, White b.u.t.terflies danced on the wing, And still the singing skylark soared And silent sank, and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green To right and left beside my walks; I knew he had a nest unseen Somewhere among the million stalks:

And as I paused to hear his song While swift the sunny moments slid, Perhaps his mate sat listening long, And listened longer than I did.

A BRIDE SONG.

Through the vales to my love!

To the happy small nest of home Green from bas.e.m.e.nt to roof; Where the honey-bees come To the window-sill flowers, And dive from above, Safe from the spider that weaves Her warp and her woof In some outermost leaves.

Through the vales to my love!

In sweet April hours All rainbows and showers, While dove answers dove,-- In beautiful May, When the orchards are tender And frothing with flowers,-- In opulent June, When the wheat stands up slender By sweet-smelling hay, And half the sun's splendour Descends to the moon.

Through the vales to my love!

Where the turf is so soft to the feet, And the thyme makes it sweet, And the stately foxglove Hangs silent its exquisite bells; And where water wells The greenness grows greener, And bulrushes stand Round a lily to screen her.

Nevertheless, if this land, Like a garden to smell and to sight, Were turned to a desert of sand, Stripped bare of delight, All its best gone to worst, For my feet no repose, No water to comfort my thirst, And heaven like a furnace above,-- The desert would be As gushing of waters to me, The wilderness be as a rose, If it led me to thee, O my love!

THE LOWEST ROOM.

Like flowers sequestered from the sun And wind of summer, day by day I dwindled paler, whilst my hair Showed the first tinge of grey.

"Oh, what is life, that we should live?

Or what is death, that we must die?

A bursting bubble is our life: I also, what am I?"