Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti Read online

  CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

  (1830–1894)

  Contents

  The Poetry Collections

  VERSES, 1847

  GOBLIN MARKET AND OTHER POEMS

  THE PRINCE’S PROGRESS AND OTHER POEMS

  SING-SONG: A NURSERY RHYME BOOK

  A PAGEANT AND OTHER POEMS

  VERSES, 1893

  SOME FEASTS AND FASTS

  GIFTS AND GRACES

  THE WORLD: SELF-DESTRUCTION

  DIVERS WORLDS:TIME AND ETERNITY

  NEW JERUSALEM AND ITS CITIZENS

  SONGS FOR STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS

  PRIVATELY PUBLISHED POEMS

  UNPUBLISHED POEMS

  The Poems

  LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

  LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

  The Fiction

  COMMONPLACE AND OTHER STORIES

  MAUDE: A STORY FOR GIRLS

  The Biography

  CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI by Theodore Watts-Dunton

  © Delphi Classics 2012

  Version 1

  CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

  By Delphi Classics, 2012

  NOTE

  When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.

  The Poetry Collections

  38 Charlotte Street (now 105 Hallam Street), London — Rossetti’s birthplace

  The poet with her mother, painted by her brother Dante Gabriel Rossetti, the famous Pre-Raphaelite artist. Their mother Frances Polidori was the sister of Lord Byron’s friend and physician, John William Polidori.

  The poet’s father, Gabriele Rossetti, a poet and political exile from Vasto, Abruzzo

  VERSES, 1847

  Christina Rossetti was the first member of the Pre-Raphaelites to achieve widespread literary success, following the 1862 publication of her narrative poem Goblin Market. Born in London in 1830, her parents were Gabriele Rossetti, a poet and a political exile from Vasto and Frances Polidori, the sister of Lord Byron’s friend and physician, John William Polidori. Christina was the youngest of four children in a family fused with literary and artistic interests. Like her older siblings, Christina began writing and drawing at an early age. Her maternal grandfather Polidori doted on Christina and in 1847 he had the following collection of her verses privately published. Her first public poems appeared later in the Athenaeum, when she was only eighteen years old. She wrote poetry, fiction and non-fiction works prolifically throughout her life.

  Christina’s early poetry reflects her deep religious devotion. She was a High Church Anglican and a disciple of Tractarianism, a radically conservative position. When she was 13, Christina began attending Christ Church with her mother and sister Maria. About this time, Christina went through a transformation that her friends and family were at a loss to explain. As a girl, she was spirited, passionate and hot-tempered to the point of self-destruction: she reports once ripping her arm with scissors after her mother chastised her for some small offense. Her brother William Michael Rossetti wrote that “In innate character she was vivacious and open to pleasurable impressions, and during girlhood, one might readily have supposed that she would develop into a woman of expansive heart, fond of society and diversions, and taking part in them of more than average brilliancy.”

  Portrait of Rossetti, by her brother Dante Gabriel Rossetti

  CONTENTS

  THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH PASSETH KNOWLEDGE

  A BRUISED REED SHALL HE NOT BREAK

  A BETTER RESURRECTION

  ADVENT: THIS ADVENT MOON SHINES COLD AND CLEAR

  THE THREE ENEMIES

  ONE CERTAINTY

  CHRISTIAN AND JEW: A DIALOGUE

  SWEET DEATH

  SYMBOLS

  CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD

  THE WORLD

  A TESTIMONY

  SLEEP AT SEA

  FROM HOUSE TO HOME

  OLD AND NEW YEAR DITTIES

  AMEN

  DESPISED AND REJECTED

  LONG BARREN

  IF ONLY

  DOST THOU NOT CARE?

  WEARY IN WELL-DOING

  MARTYRS’ SONG

  AFTER THIS THE JUDGEMENT

  GOOD FRIDAY

  THE LOWEST PLACE

  THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH PASSETH KNOWLEDGE

  I bore with thee long weary days and nights,

  Through many pangs of heart, through many tears;

  I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights,

  For three and thirty years.

  Who else had dared for thee what I have dared?

  I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above;

  I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared:

  Give thou Me love for love.

  For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth,

  For thee I trembled in the nightly frost:

  Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth:

  Why wilt thou still be lost?

  I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced:

  Men only marked upon My shoulders borne

  The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced,

  Or wagged their heads in scorn.

  Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name

  Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes:

  I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame;

  I, God, Priest, Sacrifice.

  A thief upon My right hand and My left;

  Six hours alone, athirst, in misery:

  At length in death one smote My heart and cleft

  A hiding-place for thee.

  Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down

  More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep:

  So did I win a kingdom, — share my crown;

  A harvest, — come and reap.

  A BRUISED REED SHALL HE NOT BREAK

  I will accept thy will to do and be,

  Thy hatred and intolerance of sin,

  Thy will at least to love, that burns within

  And thirsteth after Me:

  So will I render fruitful, blessing still,

  The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,

  Because thy will cleaves to the better part. —

  Alas, I cannot will.

  Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive

  The inner unseen longings of the soul,

  I guide them turning towards Me; I control

  And charm hearts till they grieve:

  If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass,

  Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love;

  For I have power in earth and heaven above. —

  I cannot wish, alas!

  What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet

  I still must strive to win thee and constrain:

  For thee I hung upon the cross in pain,

  How then can I forget?

  If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate,

  Nor choose, nor wish, — resign thyself, be still

  Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will. —

  I do not deprecate.

  A BETTER RESURRECTION

  I have no wit, no words, no tears;

  My heart within me like a stone

  Is numbed too much for hopes or fears.

  Look right, look left, I dwell alone;

  I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief

  No everlasting hills I see;

  My life is in the falling leaf:

  O Jesus, quicken me.

  My life is like a faded leaf,

  My harvest dwindled to a husk;
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  Truly my life is void and brief

  And tedious in the barren dusk;

  My life is like a frozen thing,

  No bud nor greenness can I see:

  Yet rise it shall — the sap of Spring;

  O Jesus, rise in me.

  My life is like a broken bowl,

  A broken bowl that cannot hold

  One drop of water for my soul

  Or cordial in the searching cold

  Cast in the fire the perished thing,

  Melt and remould it, till it be

  A royal cup for Him my King:

  O Jesus, drink of me.

  ADVENT: THIS ADVENT MOON SHINES COLD AND CLEAR

  This Advent moon shines cold and clear,

  These Advent nights are long;

  Our lamps have burned year after year

  And still their flame is strong.

  ‘Watchman, what of the night?’ we cry,

  Heart-sick with hope deferred:

  ‘No speaking signs are in the sky,’

  Is still the watchman’s word.

  The Porter watches at the gate,

  The servants watch within;

  The watch is long betimes and late,

  The prize is slow to win.

  ‘Watchman, what of the night?’ But still

  His answer sounds the same:

  ‘No daybreak tops the utmost hill,

  Nor pale our lamps of flame.’

  One to another hear them speak

  The patient virgins wise:

  ‘Surely He is not far to seek’ —

  ‘All night we watch and rise.’

  ‘The days are evil looking back,

  The coming days are dim;

  Yet count we not His promise slack,

  But watch and wait for Him.’

  One with another, soul with soul,

  They kindle fire from fire:

  ‘Friends watch us who have touched the goal.’

  ‘They urge us, come up higher.’

  ‘With them shall rest our waysore feet,

  With them is built our home,

  With Christ.’ — ’They sweet, but He most sweet,

  Sweeter than honeycomb.’

  There no more parting, no more pain,

  The distant ones brought near,

  The lost so long are found again,

  Long lost but longer dear:

  Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,

  Nor heart conceived that rest,

  With them our good things long deferred,

  With Jesus Christ our Best.

  We weep because the night is long,

  We laugh for day shall rise,

  We sing a slow contented song

  And knock at Paradise.

  Weeping we hold Him fast, Who wept

  For us, we hold Him fast;

  And will not let Him go except

  He bless us first or last.

  Weeping we hold Him fast tonight;

  We will not let Him go

  Till daybreak smite our wearied sight

  And summer smite the snow:

  Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove

  Shall coo the livelong day;

  Then He shall say, ‘Arise, My love,

  My fair one, come away.’

  THE THREE ENEMIES

  the flesh

  ‘Sweet, thou art pale.’

  ‘More pale to see,

  Christ hung upon the cruel tree

  And bore His Father’s wrath for me.’

  ‘Sweet, thou art sad.’

  ‘Beneath a rod

  More heavy, Christ for my sake trod

  The winepress of the wrath of God.’

  ‘Sweet, thou art weary.’

  ‘Not so Christ:

  Whose mighty love of me sufficed

  For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist.’

  ‘Sweet, thou art footsore.’

  ‘If I bleed,

  His feet have bled; yea in my need

  His Heart once bled for mine indeed.’

  the world

  ‘Sweet, thou art young.’

  ‘So He was young

  Who for my sake in silence hung

  Upon the Cross with Passion wrung.’

  ‘Look, thou art fair.’

  ‘He was more fair

  Than men, Who deigned for me to wear

  A visage marred beyond compare.’

  ‘And thou hast riches.’

  ‘Daily bread:

  All else is His: Who, living, dead,

  For me lacked where to lay His Head.’

  ‘And life is sweet.’

  ‘It was not so

  To Him, Whose Cup did overflow

  With mine unutterable woe.’

  the devil

  ‘Thou drinkest deep.’

  ‘When Christ would sup

  He drained the dregs from out my cup:

  So how should I be lifted up?’

  ‘Thou shalt win Glory.’

  ‘In the skies,

  Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes

  Lest they should look on vanities.’

  ‘Thou shalt have Knowledge.’

  ‘Helpless dust!

  In Thee, O Lord, I put my trust:

  Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just.’

  ‘And Might.’ —

  ‘Get thee behind me. Lord,

  Who hast redeemed and not abhorred

  My soul, oh keep it by Thy Word.’

  ONE CERTAINTY

  Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith,

  All things are vanity. The eye and ear

  Cannot be filled with what they see and hear.

  Like early dew, or like the sudden breath

  Of wind, or like the grass that withereth,

  Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear:

  So little joy hath he, so little cheer,

  Till all things end in the long dust of death.

  Today is still the same as yesterday,

  Tomorrow also even as one of them;

  And there is nothing new under the sun:

  Until the ancient race of Time be run,

  The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem,

  And morning shall be cold and twilight grey.

  CHRISTIAN AND JEW: A DIALOGUE

  ‘Oh happy happy land!

  Angels like rushes stand

  About the wells of light.’ —

  ‘Alas, I have not eyes for this fair sight:

  Hold fast my hand.’ —

  ‘As in a soft wind, they

  Bend all one blessed way,

  Each bowed in his own glory, star with star.’ —

  ‘I cannot see so far,

  Here shadows are.’ —

  ‘White-winged the cherubim,

  Yet whiter seraphim,

  Glow white with intense fire of love.’ —

  ‘Mine eyes are dim:

  I look in vain above,

  And miss their hymn.’ —

  ‘Angels, Archangels cry

  One to other ceaselessly

  (I hear them sing)

  One “Holy, Holy, Holy” to their King.’ —

  ‘I do not hear them, I.’ —

  ‘At one side Paradise

  Is curtained from the rest,

  Made green for wearied eyes;

  Much softer than the breast

  Of mother-dove clad in a rainbow’s dyes.

  ‘All precious souls are there

  Most safe, elect by grace,

  All tears are wiped for ever from their face:

  Untired in prayer

  They wait and praise

  Hidden for a little space.

  ‘Boughs of the Living Vine

  They spread in summer shine

  Green leaf with leaf:

  Sap of the Royal Vine it stirs like wine

  In all both less and chief.

  ‘Sing to the Lord,

  All spirits of all flesh, sing;

  For H
e hath not abhorred

  Our low estate nor scorn’d our offering:

  Shout to our King.’ —

  ‘But Zion said:

  My Lord forgetteth me.

  Lo, she hath made her bed

  In dust; forsaken weepeth she

  Where alien rivers swell the sea.

  ‘She laid her body as the ground,

  Her tender body as the ground to those

  Who passed; her harpstrings cannot sound

  In a strange land; discrowned

  She sits, and drunk with woes.’ —

  ‘O drunken not with wine,

  Whose sins and sorrows have fulfilled the sum, —

  Be not afraid, arise, be no more dumb;

  Arise, shine,

  For thy light is come.’ —

  ‘Can these bones live?’ —

  ‘God knows:

  The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin;

  A wind blew on them and life entered in;

  They shook and rose.

  Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin,

  Let life begin.’

  SWEET DEATH

  The sweetest blossoms die.

  And so it was that, going day by day

  Unto the church to praise and pray,

  And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully,

  I saw how on the graves the flowers

  Shed their fresh leaves in showers,

  And how their perfume rose up to the sky

  Before it passed away.

  The youngest blossoms die.

  They die, and fall and nourish the rich earth