Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 41

GOLDEN GLORIES.

The b.u.t.tercup is like a golden cup, The marigold is like a golden frill, The daisy with a golden eye looks up, And golden spreads the flag beside the rill, And gay and golden nods the daffodil, The gorsey common swells a golden sea, The cowslip hangs a head of golden tips, And golden drips the honey which the bee Sucks from sweet hearts of flowers and stores and sips.

JOHNNY.

FOUNDED ON AN ANECDOTE OF THE FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION.

Johnny had a golden head Like a golden mop in blow, Right and left his curls would spread In a glory and a glow, And they framed his honest face Like stray sunbeams out of place.

Long and thick, they half could hide How threadbare his patched jacket hung; They used to be his Mother's pride; She praised them with a tender tongue, And stroked them with a loving finger That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger.

On a doorstep Johnny sat, Up and down the street looked he; Johnny did not own a hat, Hot or cold tho' days might be; Johnny did not own a boot To cover up his muddy foot.

Johnny's face was pale and thin, Pale with hunger and with crying; For his Mother lay within, Talked and tossed and seemed a-dying, While Johnny racked his brains to think How to get her help and drink,

Get her physic, get her tea, Get her bread and something nice; Not a penny piece had he, And scarce a shilling might suffice; No wonder that his soul was sad, When not one penny piece he had.

As he sat there thinking, moping, Because his Mother's wants were many, Wishing much but scarcely hoping To earn a shilling or a penny, A friendly neighbor pa.s.sed him by And questioned him: Why did he cry?

Alas! his trouble soon was told: He did not cry for cold or hunger, Though he was hungry both and cold; He only felt more weak and younger, Because he wished so to be old And apt at earning pence or gold.

Kindly that neighbor was, but poor, Scant coin had he to give or lend; And well he guessed there needed more Than pence or shillings to befriend The helpless woman in her strait, So much loved, yet so desolate.

One way he saw, and only one: He would--he could not--give the advice, And yet he must: the widow's son Had curls of gold would fetch their price; Long curls which might be clipped, and sold For silver, or perhaps for gold.

Our Johnny, when he understood Which shop it was that purchased hair, Ran off as briskly as he could, And in a trice stood cropped and bare, Too short of hair to fill a locket, But jingling money in his pocket.

Precious money--tea and bread, Physic, ease, for Mother dear, Better than a golden head: Yet our hero dropped one tear When he spied himself close shorn, Barer much than lamb new born.

His Mother throve upon the money, Ate and revived and kissed her son: But oh! when she perceived her Johnny, And understood what he had done All and only for her sake, She sobbed as if her heart must break.

"HOLLOW-SOUNDING AND MYSTERIOUS."

There's no replying To the Wind's sighing, Telling, foretelling, Dying, undying, Dwindling and swelling, Complaining, droning, Whistling and moaning, Ever beginning, Ending, repeating, Hinting and dinning, Lagging and fleeting-- We've no replying Living or dying To the Wind's sighing.

What are you telling, Variable Wind-tone?

What would be teaching, O sinking, swelling, Desolate Wind-moan?

Ever for ever Teaching and preaching, Never, ah never Making us wiser-- The earliest riser Catches no meaning, The last who hearkens Garners no gleaning Of wisdom's treasure, While the world darkens:-- Living or dying, In pain, in pleasure, We've no replying To wordless flying Wind's sighing.

MAIDEN MAY.

Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower, Sweet of scent; Sat and dreamed away an hour, Half content, half uncontent.

"Why should rose blossoms be born, Tender blossoms, on a thorn Though so sweet?

Never a thorn besets the corn Scentless in its strength complete.

"Why are roses all so frail, At the mercy of the gale, Of a breath?

Yet so sweet and perfect pale, Still so sweet in life and death."

Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower, Where a linnet Made one bristling branch the tower For her nest and young ones in it.

"Gay and clear the linnet trills; Yet the skylark only, thrills Heaven and earth When he b.r.e.a.s.t.s the height, and fills Height and depth with song and mirth.

"Nightingales which yield to night Solitary strange delight, Reign alone: But the lark for all his height Fills no solitary throne;

"While he sings, a hundred sing; Wing their flight below his wing Yet in flight; Each a lovely joyful thing To the measure of its delight.

"Why then should a lark be reckoned One alone, without a second Near his throne?

He in skyward flight unslackened, In his music, not alone."

Maiden May sat in her bower; Her own face was like a flower Of the prime, Half in sunshine, half in shower, In the year's most tender time.

Her own thoughts in silent song Musically flowed along, Wise, unwise, Wistful, wondering, weak or strong: As brook shallows sink or rise.

Other thoughts another day, Maiden May, will surge and sway Round your heart; Wake, and plead, and turn at bay, Wisdom part, and folly part.

Time not far remote will borrow Other joys, another sorrow, All for you; Not to-day, and yet to-morrow Reasoning false and reasoning true.

Wherefore greatest? Wherefore least?

Hearts that starve and hearts that feast?

You and I?

Stammering Oracles have ceased, And the whole earth stands at "why?"

Underneath all things that be Lies an unsolved mystery; Over all Spreads a veil impenetrably, Spreads a dense unlifted pall.

Mystery of mysteries: _This_ creation hears and sees High and low-- Vanity of vanities: _This_ we test and _this_ we know.

Maiden May, the days of flowering Nurse you now in sweet embowering, Sunny days; Bright with rainbows all the showering, Bright with blossoms all the ways.

Close the inlet of your bower, Close it close with thorn and flower, Maiden May; Lengthen out the shortening hour,-- Morrows are not as to-day.

Stay to-day which wanes too soon, Stay the sun and stay the moon, Stay your youth; Bask you in the actual noon, Rest you in the present truth.

Let to-day suffice to-day: For itself to-morrow may Fetch its loss; Aim and stumble, say its say, Watch and pray and bear its cross.

TILL TO-MORROW.