Christina Georgina Rossetti.
FROM THE PRINCES PROGRESS
TOO late for love, too late for joy,
Too late, too late!
You loiterd on the road too long,
at the gate:
The enchanted dove upon her branch
Died without a mate;
The enchanted princess in her
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,
Then you had known her living face
Which now you cannot know:
The frozen fountain would have
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,
on her hair.
Now there are poppies in her locks,
White poppies she must wear;
Must wear a veil to shroud
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 seemd never soft to her;
tossd of down;
She little heeded what she wore,
Kirtle, or wreath, or gown;
We think her white brows often
Beneath her crown,
Till silvery hairs showd 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
Her heart sat silent through the noise
And concourse of the street.
There was no hurry in her
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
That she is dead?
Lo, we who love weep not to-day,
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.
MY heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a waterd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a daëis of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
WHEN I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
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,
I TOOK my heart in my hand
(O my love, O my love),
I said: Let me fall or stand,
Let me live
But this once hear me speak
(O my love, O my love)
Yet a womans words are weak;
speak, not I.
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd,
and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission.
See our FAQ for more details.