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Christina Rossetti: An Apple Gathering
An Apple GatheringI plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree And wore them all that evening in my hair: Then in due season when I went to see I found no apples there.With dangling…Christina Rossetti: Another Spring
Another SpringIf I might see another Spring I'd not plant summer flowers and wait: I'd have my crocuses at once, My leafless pink mezereons, My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet My…Christina Rossetti: Autumn Violets
Autumn VioletsNovember 1868Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring: Of if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves, Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves, Their own, and others…Christina Rossetti: Beauty Is Vain
Beauty Is VainWhile roses are so red, While lilies are so white, Shall a woman exalt her face Because it gives delight? She's not so sweet as a rose, A lily's straighter than she, And…Christina Rossetti: Bird or Beast?
Bird or Beast?Did any bird come flying After Adam and Eve, When the door was shut against them And they sat down to grieve?I think not Eve's peacock Splendid to see, And I think not…Christina Rossetti: Bitter for Sweet
Bitter for SweetSummer is gone with all its roses, Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers, Its warm air and refreshing showers: And even Autumn closes.Yea, Autumn's chilly self is…Christina Rossetti: By the Waters of Babylon
By the Waters of BabylonB.C. 570October 1866Here where I dwell I waste to skin and bone; The curse is come upon me, and I waste In penal torment powerless to atone. The curse is come on…Christina Rossetti: Christian and Jew
Christian and JewA 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,…Christina Rossetti: Cousin Kate
Cousin KateI was a cottage maiden Hardened by sun and air, Contented with my cottage mates, Not mindful I was fair. Why did a great lord find me out, And praise my flaxen hair? Why did…Christina Rossetti: Dead Hope
Dead HopeMay 1868Hope new born one pleasant morn Died at even; Hope dead lives nevermore. No, not in heaven.If his shroud were but a cloud To weep itself away; Or were he buried…Trending
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