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- Herausgeber: Delphi Classics
- Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
- Serie: Delphi Poets Series
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
Famous for the long poem ‘Goblin Market’ and the classic love poem ‘Remember’, Christina Rossetti created a variety of romantic, devotional and children's poems, as well as an accomplished sample of fiction. The Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature's finest poets, with superior formatting. This volume presents the complete poetical and fictional works of Christina Rossetti, with beautiful illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)
* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Rossetti's life and works
* Concise introductions to the poetry and other works
* Images of how the poetry books were first printed, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the poems
* Features Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s accompanying illustrations to GOBLIN MARKET
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
* Easily locate the poems you want to read
* Includes Rossetti's complete short stories and her rare novella MAUDE, appearing for the first time in digital print
* Features a bonus biography by the Pre-Raphaelite expert Theodore Watts-Dunton - discover Rossetti's literary life
* Scholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres
* Easily skip forward or back to each poem and section using the Kindle's 5-way controller
Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of exciting titles
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UNPUBLISHED POEMS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
Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of exciting titles
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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 borneThe 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. —
A BETTER RESURRECTION
I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stoneIs 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;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 holdOne drop of water for my soul Or cordial in the searching coldCast in the fire the perished thing, Melt and remould it, till it beA 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 goTill daybreak smite our wearied sight And summer smite the snow:
THE THREE ENEMIES
the flesh
‘Sweet, thou art pale.’ ‘More pale to see,Christ hung upon the cruel treeAnd bore His Father’s wrath for me.’
‘Sweet, thou art sad.’ ‘Beneath a rodMore heavy, Christ for my sake trodThe winepress of the wrath of God.’
‘Sweet, thou art weary.’ ‘Not so Christ:Whose mighty love of me sufficedFor Strength, Salvation, Eucharist.’
‘Sweet, thou art footsore.’ ‘If I bleed,His feet have bled; yea in my needHis Heart once bled for mine indeed.’
the world
‘Sweet, thou art young.’ ‘So He was youngWho for my sake in silence hungUpon the Cross with Passion wrung.’
‘Look, thou art fair.’ ‘He was more fairThan men, Who deigned for me to wearA 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 soTo Him, Whose Cup did overflowWith mine unutterable woe.’
the devil
‘Thou drinkest deep.’ ‘When Christ would supHe 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 eyesLest 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
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 breathOf 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,
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, theyBend 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 cryOne 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 breastOf 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 VineThey 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 He 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 thoseWho passed; her harpstrings cannot soundIn 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;
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 From which they lately had their birth;Sweet life, but sweeter death that passeth by And is as though it had not been: — All colors turn to green:The bright hues vanish, and the odors fly, The grass hath lasting worth.
And youth and beauty die. So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth: Better than beauty and than youthAre Saints and Angels, a glad company; And Thou, O lord, our Rest and Ease, Are better far than these.
SYMBOLS
I watched a rosebud very long Brought on by dew and sun and shower, Waiting to see the perfect flower:Then, when I thought it should be strong, It opened at the matin hourAnd fell at evensong.
I watched a nest from day to day, A green nest full of pleasant shade, Wherein three speckled eggs were laid:But when they should have hatched in May, The two old birds had grown afraidOr tired, and flew away.
Then in my wrath I broke the bough That I had tended so with care, Hoping its scent should fill the air;I crushed the eggs, not heeding how Their ancient promise had been fair:I would have vengeance now.
But the dead branch spoke from the sod, And the eggs answered me again: Because we failed dost thou complain?Is thy wrath just? And what if God, Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain,
CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD
Flowers preach to us if we will hear: — The rose saith in the dewy morn:I am most fair;Yet all my loveliness is bornUpon a thorn.The poppy saith amid the corn:Let but my scarlet head appearAnd I am held in scorn;Yet juice of subtle virtue liesWithin my cup of curious dyes.The lilies say: Behold how wePreach without words of purity.The violets whisper from the shadeWhich their own leaves have made:Men scent our fragrance on the air,Yet take no heedOf humble lessons we would read.
But not alone the fairest flowers:The merest grassAlong the roadside where we pass,Lichen and moss and sturdy weed,Tell of His love who sends the dew,The rain and sunshine too,To nourish one small seed.
THE WORLD
By day she woos me, soft, exceeding fair: But all night as the moon so changeth she; Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosyAnd subtle serpents gliding in her hair.By day she woos me to the outer air, Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety: But through the night, a beast she grins at me,A very monster void of love and prayer.By day she stands a lie: by night she stands In all the naked horror of the truthWith pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands.Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell My soul to her, give her my life and youth,
A TESTIMONY
I said of laughter: it is vain. Of mirth I said: what profits it? Therefore I found a book, and writTherein how ease and also pain,How health and sickness, every oneIs vanity beneath the sun.
Man walks in a vain shadow; he Disquieteth himself in vain. The things that were shall be again;The rivers do not fill the sea,But turn back to their secret source;The winds too turn upon their course.
Our treasures moth and rust corrupt, Or thieves break through and steal, or they Make themselves wings and fly away.One man made merry as he supped,Nor guessed how when that night grew dim,His soul would be required of him.
We build our houses on the sand Comely withoutside and within; But when the winds and rains beginTo beat on them, they cannot stand;They perish, quickly overthrown,Loose from the very basement stone.
All things are vanity, I said: Yea vanity of vanities. The rich man dies; and the poor dies:The worm feeds sweetly on the dead.Whate’er thou lackest, keep this trust:All in the end shall have but dust.
The one inheritance, which best And worst alike shall find and share: The wicked cease from troubling there,And there the weary are at rest;There all the wisdom of the wiseIs vanity of vanities.
Man flourishes as a green leaf, And as a leaf doth pass away; Or as a shade that cannot stay,And leaves no track, his course is brief:Yet doth man hope and fear and planTill he is dead: — oh foolish man!
Our eyes cannot be satisfied With seeing, nor our ears be filled With hearing: yet we plant and buildAnd buy and make our borders wide;We gather wealth, we gather care,But know not who shall be our heir.
Why should we hasten to arise So early, and so late take rest? Our labour is not good; our bestHopes fade; our heart is stayed on lies:Verily, we sow wind; and weShall reap the whirlwind, verily.
He who hath little shall not lack; He who hath plenty shall decay: Our fathers went; we pass away;Our children follow on our track:So generations fail, and soThey are renewed, and come and go.
The earth is fattened with our dead; She swallows more and doth not cease: Therefore her wine and oil increaseAnd her sheaves are not numberèd;Therefore her plants are green, and allHer pleasant trees lusty and tall.
Therefore the maidens cease to sing, And the young men are very sad; Therefore the sowing is not glad,And mournful is the harvesting.Of high and low, of great and small,Vanity is the lot of all.
A King dwelt in Jerusalem; He was the wisest man on earth; He had all riches from his birth,
SLEEP AT SEA
Sound the deep waters: — Who shall sound that deep? — Too short the plummet, And the watchmen sleep.Some dream of effort Up a toilsome steep;Some dream of pasture grounds For harmless sheep.
White shapes flit to and fro From mast to mast;They feel the distant tempest That nears them fast:Great rocks are straight ahead, Great shoals not past;They shout to one another Upon the blast.
Oh, soft the streams drop music Between the hills,And musical the birds’ nests Beside those rills:The nests are types of home Love-hidden from ills,The nests are types of spirits Love-music fills.
So dream the sleepers, Each man in his place;The lightning shows the smile Upon each face:The ship is driving, driving, It drives apace:And sleepers smile, and spirits Bewail their case.
The lightning glares and reddens Across the skies;It seems but sunset To those sleeping eyes.When did the sun go down On such a wise?From such a sunset When shall day arise?
‘Wake,’ call the spirits: But to heedless ears:They have forgotten sorrows And hopes and fears;They have forgotten perils And smiles and tears;Their dream has held them long, Long years and years.
‘Wake,’ call the spirits again: But it would takeA louder summons To bid them awake.Some dream of pleasure For another’s sake;Some dream, forgetful Of a lifelong ache.
One by one slowly, Ah, how sad and slow!Wailing and praying The spirits rise and go:Clear stainless spirits White as white as snow;Pale spirits, wailing For an overthrow.
One by one flitting, Like a mournful birdWhose song is tired at last For no mate is heard.The loving voice is silent, The useless word;One by one flitting Sick with hope deferred.
Driving and driving, The ship drives amain:While swift from mast to mast Shapes flit again,Flit silent as the silence Where men lie slain;Their shadow cast upon the sails Is like a stain.
FROM HOUSE TO HOME
The first was like a dream through summer heat, The second like a tedious numbing swoon,While the half-frozen pulses lagged to beat Beneath a winter moon.
‘But,’ says my friend, ‘what was this thing and where?’ It was a pleasure-place within my soul;An earthly paradise supremely fair That lured me from the goal.
The first part was a tissue of hugged lies; The second was its ruin fraught with pain:Why raise the fair delusion to the skies But to be dashed again?
My castle stood of white transparent glass Glittering and frail with many a fretted spire,But when the summer sunset came to pass It kindled into fire.
My pleasaunce was an undulating green, Stately with trees whose shadows slept below,With glimpses of smooth garden-beds between Like flame or sky or snow.
Swift squirrels on the pastures took their ease, With leaping lambs safe from the unfeared knife;All singing-birds rejoicing in those trees Fulfilled their careless life.
Woodpigeons cooed there, stockdoves nestled there; My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit,Their branches spread a city to the air And mice lodged in their root.
My heath lay farther off, where lizards lived In strange metallic mail, just spied and gone;Like darted lightnings here and there perceived But nowhere dwelt upon.
Frogs and fat toads were there to hop or plod And propagate in peace, an uncouth crew,Where velvet-headed rushes rustling nod And spill the morning dew.
All caterpillars throve beneath my rule, With snails and slugs in corners out of sight;I never marred the curious sudden stool That perfects in a night.
Safe in his excavated gallery The burrowing mole groped on from year to year;No harmless hedgehog curled because of me His prickly back for fear.
Oft times one like an angel walked with me, With spirit-discerning eyes like flames of fire,But deep as the unfathomed endless sea, Fulfilling my desire:
And sometimes like a snowdrift he was fair, And sometimes like a sunset glorious red,And sometimes he had wings to scale the air With aureole round his head.
We sang our songs together by the way, Calls and recalls and echoes of delight;So communed we together all the day, And so in dreams by night.
I have no words to tell what way we walked. What unforgotten path now closed and sealed;I have no words to tell all things we talked, All things that he revealed:
This only can I tell: that hour by hour I waxed more feastful, lifted up and glad;I felt no thorn-prick when I plucked a flower, Felt not my friend was sad.
‘Tomorrow,’ once I said to him with smiles: ‘Tonight,’ he answered gravely and was dumb,But pointed out the stones that numbered miles And miles to come.
‘Not so,’ I said: ‘tomorrow shall be sweet; Tonight is not so sweet as coming days.’Then first I saw that he had turned his feet, Had turned from me his face:
Running and flying miles and miles he went, But once looked back to beckon with his handAnd cry: ‘Come home, O love, from banishment: Come to the distant land.’
That night destroyed me like an avalanche; One night turned all my summer back to snow:Next morning not a bird upon my branch, Not a lamb woke below, —
No bird, no lamb, no living breathing thing; No squirrel scampered on my breezy lawn,No mouse lodged by his hoard: all joys took wing And fled before that dawn.
Azure and sun were starved from heaven above, No dew had fallen, but biting frost lay hoar:O love, I knew that I should meet my love, Should find my love no more.
‘My love no more,’ I muttered stunned with pain: I shed no tear, I wrung no passionate hand,Till something whispered: ‘You shall meet again, Meet in a distant land.’
Then with a cry like famine I arose, I lit my candle, searched from room to room,Searched up and down; a war of winds that froze Swept through the blank of gloom.
I searched day after day, night after night; Scant change there came to me of night or day:‘No more,’ I wailed, ‘no more:’ and trimmed my light, And gnashed but did not pray,
Until my heart broke and my spirit broke: Upon the frost-bound floor I stumbled, fell,And moaned: ‘It is enough: withhold the stroke. Farewell, O love, farewell.’
Then life swooned from me. And I heard the song Of spheres and spirits rejoicing over me:One cried: ‘Our sister, she hath suffered long.’ — One answered: ‘Make her see.’ —
One cried: ‘Oh blessèd she who no more pain, Who no more disappointment shall receive.’ — One answered: ‘Not so: she must live again; Strengthen thou her to live.’
So while I lay entranced a curtain seemed To shrivel with crackling from before my face;Across mine eyes a waxing radiance beamed And showed a certain place.
I saw a vision of a woman, where Night and new morning strive for domination;Incomparably pale, and almost fair, And sad beyond expression.
Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem, Were stately like the stars, and yet were tender;Her figure charmed me like a windy stem Quivering and drooped and slender.
I stood upon the outer barren ground, She stood on inner ground that budded flowers;While circling in their never-slackening round Danced by the mystic hours.
But every flower was lifted on a thorn, And every thorn shot upright from its sands0To gall her feet; hoarse laughter pealed in scorn With cruel clapping hands.
She bled and wept, yet did not shrink; her strength Was strung up until daybreak of delight:She measured measureless sorrow toward its length, And breadth, and depth, and height.
Then marked I how a chain sustained her form, A chain of living links not made nor riven:It stretched sheer up through lighting, wind, and storm, And anchored fast in heaven.
One cried: ‘How long? yet founded on the Rock She shall do battle, suffer, and attain.’ — One answered: ‘Faith quakes in the tempest shock: Strengthen her soul again.’
I saw a cup sent down and come to her Brimfull of loathing and of bitterness:She drank with livid lips that seemed to stir The depth, not make it less.
But as she drank I spied a hand distil New wine and virgin honey; making itFirst bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, until She tasted only sweet.
Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy-fresh and young; Drinking she sang: ‘My soul shall nothing want;’And drank anew: while soft a song was sung, A mystical slow chant.
One cried: ‘The wounds are faithful of a friend: The wilderness shall blossom as a rose.’ — One answered: ‘Rend the veil, declare the end, Strengthen her ere she goes.’
Then earth and heaven were rolled up like a scroll; Time and space, change and death, had passed away;Weight, number, measure, each had reached its whole; The day had come, that day.
Multitudes — multitudes — stood up in bliss, Made equal to the angels, glorious, fair;With harps, palms, wedding-garments, kiss of peace And crowned and haloed hair.
They sang a song, a new song in the height, Harping with harps to Him Who is Strong and True:They drank new wine, their eyes saw with new light, Lo, all things were made new.
Tier beyond tier they rose and rose and rose So high that it was dreadful, flames with flames:No man could number them, no tongue disclose Their secret sacred names.
As though one pulse stirred all, one rush of blood Fed all, one breath swept through them myriad-voiced,They struck their harps, cast down their crowns, they stood And worshipped and rejoiced.
Each face looked one way like a moon new-lit, Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love;Drank love and bathed in love and mirrored it And knew no end thereof.
Glory touched glory on each blessèd head, Hands locked dear hands never to sunder more:These were the new-begotten from the dead Whom the great birthday bore.
Heart answered heart, soul answered soul at rest, Double against each other, filled, sufficed:All loving, loved of all; but loving best And best beloved of Christ.
I saw that one who lost her love in pain, Who trod on thorns, who drank the loathsome cup;The lost in night, in day was found again; The fallen was lifted up.
They stood together in the blessèd noon, They sang together through the length of days;Each loving face bent Sunwards like a moon New-lit with love and praise.
Therefore, O friend, I would not if I might Rebuild my house of lies, wherein I joyedOne time to dwell: my soul shall walk in white, Cast down but not destroyed.
Therefore in patience I possess my soul; Yea, therefore as a flint I set my face,To pluck down, to build up again the whole — But in a distant place.
These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them; This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet:My face is steadfast toward Jerusalem, My heart remembers it.
I lift the hanging hands, the feeble knees — I, precious more than seven times molten gold — Until the day when from his storehouses God shall bring new and old;
OLD AND NEW YEAR DITTIES
1.
New Year met me somewhat sad: Old Year leaves me tired,Stripped of favorite things I had Baulked of much desired:Yet farther on my road todayGod willing, farther on my way.
New Year coming on apace What have you to give me?Bring you scathe, or bring you grace,Face me with an honest face; You shall not deceive me:Be it good or ill, be it what you will,It needs shall help me on my road,My rugged way to heaven, please God.
2.
Watch with me, men, women, and children dear,You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear,Watch with me this last vigil of the year.Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme;Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream;Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart.
Watch with me blessèd spirits, who delightAll through the holy night to walk in white,Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight.I know not if they watch with me: I knowThey count this eve of resurrection slow,And cry, ‘How long?’ with urgent utterance strong.
Watch with me Jesus, in my loneliness:Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes;Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless.Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night;Tonight of pain, tomorrow of delight:I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.
3.
Passing away, saith the World, passing away:Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day:Thy life never continueth in one stay.Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to greyThat hath won neither laurel nor bay?I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May:Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decayOn my bosom for aye.Then I answered: Yea.
Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away:With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play;Hearken what the past doth witness and say:Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array,A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay.At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain dayLo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay:Watch thou and pray.Then I answered: Yea.
Passing away, saith my God, passing away:Winter passeth after the long delay:New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray,Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven’s May.Though I tarry wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray:Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day,My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say.Then I answered: Yea.
AMEN
It is over. What is over? Nay, now much is over truly! — Harvest days we toiled to sow for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly, Now the wheat is garnered duly.
It is finished. What is finished? Much is finished known or unknown:Lives are finished; time diminished; Was the fallow field left unsown? Will these buds be always unblown?
It suffices. What suffices? All suffices reckoned rightly:Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, Roses make the bramble sightly, And the quickening sun shine brightly,
DESPISED AND REJECTED
My sun has set, I dwellIn darkness as a dead man out of sight;And none remains, not one, that I should tellTo him mine evil plightThis bitter night.I will make fast my doorThat hollow friends may trouble me no more.
‘Friend, open to Me.’ — Who is this that calls?Nay, I am deaf as are my walls:Cease crying, for I will not hearThy cry of hope or fear.Others were dear,Others forsook me: what art thou indeedThat I should heedThy lamentable need?Hungry should feed,Or stranger lodge thee here?
‘Friend, My Feet bleed.Open thy door to Me and comfort Me.’I will not open, trouble me no more.Go on thy way footsore,I will not rise and open unto thee.
‘Then is it nothing to thee? Open, seeWho stands to plead with thee.Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thouOne day entreat My FaceAnd howl for grace,And I be deaf as thou art now.Open to Me.’
Then I cried out upon him: Cease,Leave me in peace:Fear not that I should craveAught thou mayst have.Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more,Lest I arise and chase thee from my door.What, shall I not be letAlone, that thou dost vex me yet?
But all night long that voice spake urgently:‘Open to Me.’Still harping in mine ears:‘Rise, let Me in.’Pleading with tears:‘Open to Me that I may come to thee.’While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold:‘My Feet bleed, see My Face,See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace,My Heart doth bleed for thee,Open to Me.’
So till the break of day:Then died awayThat voice, in silence as of sorrow;Then footsteps echoing like a sighPassed me by,Lingering footsteps slow to pass.On the morrowI saw upon the grassEach footprint marked in blood, and on my doorThe mark of blood for evermore.
LONG BARREN
Thou who didst hang upon a barren tree,My God, for me; Though I till now be barren, now at length Lord, give me strengthTo bring forth fruit to Thee.
Thou who didst bear for me the crown of thorn,Spitting and scorn; Though I till now have put forth thorns, yet now Strengthen me ThouThat better fruit be borne.
Thou Rose of Sharon, Cedar of broad roots,Vine of sweet fruits, Thou Lily of the vale with fadeless leaf, Of thousands Chief,
IF ONLY
If I might only love my God and die! But now He bids me love Him and live on, Now when the bloom of all my life is gone,The pleasant half of life has quite gone by.My tree of hope is lopped that spread so high, And I forget how summer glowed and shone, While autumn grips me with its fingers wanAnd frets me with its fitful windy sigh.When autumn passes then must winter numb, And winter may not pass a weary while, But when it passes spring shall flower again; And in that spring who weepeth now shall smile, Yea, they shall wax who now are on the wane,
DOST THOU NOT CARE?
I love and love not: Lord, it breaks my heart To love and not to love.Thou veiled within Thy glory, gone apart Into Thy shrine, which is above,Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or care For this mine ill? — I love thee here or there, I will accept thy broken heart, lie still.
Lord, it was well with me in time gone by That cometh not again,When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I? I fresh, I cheerful: worn with painNow, out of sight and out of heart; O Lord, how long? — I watch thee as thou art, I will accept thy fainting heart, be strong.
‘Lie still,’ ‘be strong,’ today; but, Lord, tomorrow, What of tomorrow, Lord?Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from sorrow, Be living green upon the swardNow but a barren grave to me, Be joy for sorrow? — Did I not die for thee? Did I not live for thee? Leave Me tomorrow.
WEARY IN WELL-DOING
I would have gone; God bade me stay: I would have worked; God bade me rest.He broke my will from day to day, He read my yearnings unexpressed And said them nay.
Now I would stay; God bids me go: Now I would rest; God bids me work.He breaks my heart tossed to and fro, My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk And vex it so.
I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me; Day after day I plod and moil:But, Christ my God, when will it be That I may let alone my toil
MARTYRS’ SONG
We meet in joy, though we part in sorrow;We part tonight, but we meet tomorrow.Be it flood or blood the path that’s trod,All the same it leads home to God:Be it furnace-fire voluminous,One like God’s Son will walk with us.
What are these that glow from afar,These that lean over the golden bar,Strong as the lion, pure as the dove,With open arms and hearts of love?They the blessed ones gone before,They the blessed for evermore.Out of great tribulation they wentHome to their home of Heaven-content;Through flood, or blood, or furnace-fire,To the rest that fulfils desire.
What are these that fly as a cloud,With flashing heads and faces bowed,In their mouths a victorious psalm,In their hands a robe and palm?Welcoming angels these that shine,Your own angel, and yours, and mine;Who have hedged us, both day and nightOn the left hand and the right,Who have watched us both night and dayBecause the devil keeps watch to slay.
Light above light, and Bliss beyond bliss,Whom words cannot utter, lo, Who is This?As a King with many crowns He stands,And our names are graven upon His hands;As a Priest, with God-uplifted eyes,He offers for us His sacrifice;As the Lamb of God for sinners slain,That we too may live He lives again;As our Champion behold Him stand,Strong to save us, at God’s Right Hand.
God the Father give us graceTo walk in the light of Jesus’ Face.God the Son give us a partIn the hiding-place of Jesus’ Heart:God the Spirit so hold us upThat we may drink of Jesus’ cup;
Death is short and life is long;Satan is strong, but Christ more strong.At His Word, Who hath led us hither.The Red Sea must part hither and thither.As His Word, Who goes before us too,Jordan must cleave to let us through.
Yet one pang searching and sore,And then Heaven for evermore;Yet one moment awful and dark,Then safety within the Veil and the Ark;Yet one effort by Christ His grace,Then Christ for ever face to face.
God the Father we will adore,In Jesus’ Name, now and evermore:God the Son we will love and thankIn this flood and on the further bank:God the Holy Ghost we will praiseIn Jesus’ Name, through endless days:God Almighty, God Three in One,God Almighty, God alone.
AFTER THIS THE JUDGEMENT
As eager homebound traveller to the goal, Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main,Or martyr panting for an aureole, My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attainThat hidden mansion of perpetual peace Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain:That gate stands open of perennial ease; I view the glory till I partly long,Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these. O passing Angel, speed me with a song,A melody of heaven to reach my heart And rouse me to the race and make me strong;Till in such music I take up my part Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest,One, tenfold, hundredfold, with heavenly art, Fulfilling north and south and east and west,Thousand, ten thousandfold, innumerable, All blent in one yet each one manifest;Each one distinguished and beloved as well As if no second voice in earth or heavenWere lifted up the Love of God to tell. Ah, Love of God, which Thine own Self hast givenTo me most poor, and made me rich in love, Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven,Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above, My treasure ad my heart store Thou in Thee,Brood over me with yearnings of a dove; Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me;Love me as very mother loves her son, Her sucking firstborn fondled on her knee:Yea, more than mother loves her little one; For, earthly, even a mother may forgetAnd feel no pity for its piteous moan; But thou, O Love of God, remember yet,Through the dry desert, through the waterflood (Life, death) until the Great White Throne is set.If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy graceAnd ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood, How shall I then stand up before Thy faceWhen from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid And utmost Justice stand in Mercy’s place:When every sin I thought or spoke or did Shall meet me at the inexorable bar,And there be no man standing in the mid To plead for me; while star fallen after starWith heaven and earth are like a ripened shock, And all time’s mighty works and wonders areConsumed as in a moment; when no rock Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide,But I stand all creation’s gazing-stock Exposed and comfortless on every side,Placed trembling in the final balances Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried? — Ah Love of God, if greater love than this Hath no man, that a man die for his friend,And if such love of love Thine Own Love is, Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end;Redeem me from the irrevocable past; Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend;Yea seek with piercèd feet, yea hold me fast With piercèd hands whose wounds were made by love;Not what I am, remember what Thou wast When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above,And sin Thy Father’s Face, while thou didst drink The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereofFor every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink Beneath the intense intolerable rod,
GOOD FRIDAY
Am I a stone and not a sheep That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss,And yet not weep?
Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;Not so the thief was moved;
Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky, A horror of great darkness at broad noon — I, only I.
Yet give not o’er, But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once moreAnd smite a rock.
THE LOWEST PLACE
Give me the lowest place: not that I dare Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast diedThat I might live and share Thy glory by Thy side.
Give me the lowest place: or if for me That lowest place too high, make one more lowWhere I may sit and see
GOBLIN MARKET AND OTHER POEMS
First published in 1862, this poetry collection features Rossetti’s most celebrated poem, which was illustrated by her brother, the Pre-Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Although in later times the poem has been well documented for its feminist and homosexual interpretations, Rossetti later explained in a letter to her editor that Goblin Market was not originally intended for children. Nevertheless, the poet often stated in public that it was meant for a young audience, allowing her to target children’s poetry in following collections.
Goblin Market employs an irregular rhyme scheme, using couplets and alternate rhymes, as well as an irregular metre, supporting the disturbing nature of the narrative. The poem concerns two close sisters, Laura and Lizzie, as well as the goblin creatures referred to in the title. Although the sisters are young, they live alone in a house, where they draw water every evening from a stream. As the poem opens, twilight is falling and the sisters hear the calls from the goblin merchants, who sell fruits in fantastic abundance. As Laura lingers at the stream, after her sister has left for home, she is intrigued by the goblins’ strange manner and appearance. Wanting fruit but having no money, the impulsive Laura offers instead a lock of her hair and “a tear more rare than pearl.”
The first edition
CONTENTS
GOBLIN MARKET
IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI, JUNE 8, 1857
DREAM LAND
AT HOME
A TRIAD
LOVE FROM THE NORTH
WINTER RAIN
COUSIN KATE
NOBLE SISTERS
SPRING
THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860
A BIRTHDAY
REMEMBER
AFTER DEATH
AN END
MY DREAM
SONG: OH ROSES FOR THE FLUSH OF YOUTH
THE HOUR AND THE GHOST
A SUMMER WISH
AN APPLE GATHERING
SONG: TWO DOVES UPON THE SELFSAME BRANCH
MAUDE CLARE
ECHO
WINTER: MY SECRET
ANOTHER SPRING
A PEAL OF BELLS
FATA MORGANA
NO, THANK YOU, JOHN
MAY: I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW IT WAS
A PAUSE OF THOUGHT
TWILIGHT CALM
WIFE TO HUSBAND
THREE SEASONS
MIRAGE
SHUT OUT
SOUND SLEEP
SONG: SHE SAT AND SANG ALWAY
SONG: WHEN I AM DEAD, MY DEAREST
DEAD BEFORE DEATH
BITTER FOR SWEET
SISTER MAUDE
REST
THE FIRST SPRING DAY
THE CONVENT THRESHOLD
UP-HILL
GOBLIN MARKET
Morning and eveningMaids heard the goblins cry:‘Come buy our orchard fruits,Come buy, come buy:Apples and quinces,Lemons and oranges,Plump unpecked cherries,Melons and raspberries,Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,Swart-headed mulberries, 10Wild free-born cranberries,Crab-apples, dewberries,Pine-apples, blackberries,Apricots, strawberries; — All ripe togetherIn summer weather, — Morns that pass by,Fair eves that fly;Come buy, come buy:Our grapes fresh from the vine, 20Pomegranates full and fine,Dates and sharp bullaces,Rare pears and greengages,Damsons and bilberries,Taste them and try:Currants and gooseberries,Bright-fire-like barberries,Figs to fill your mouth,Citrons from the South,Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; 30Come buy, come buy.’
Evening by eveningAmong the brookside rushes,Laura bowed her head to hear,Lizzie veiled her blushes:Crouching close togetherIn the cooling weather,With clasping arms and cautioning lips,With tingling cheeks and finger tips.‘Lie close,’ Laura said, 40Pricking up her golden head:‘We must not look at goblin men,We must not buy their fruits:Who knows upon what soil they fedTheir hungry thirsty roots?’‘Come buy,’ call the goblinsHobbling down the glen.‘Oh,’ cried Lizzie, ‘Laura, Laura,You should not peep at goblin men.’Lizzie covered up her eyes, 50Covered close lest they should look;Laura reared her glossy head,And whispered like the restless brook:‘Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,Down the glen tramp little men.One hauls a basket,One bears a plate,One lugs a golden dishOf many pounds weight.How fair the vine must grow 60Whose grapes are so luscious;How warm the wind must blowThrough those fruit bushes.’‘No,’ said Lizzie, ‘No, no, no;Their offers should not charm us,Their evil gifts would harm us.’She thrust a dimpled fingerIn each ear, shut eyes and ran:Curious Laura chose to lingerWondering at each merchant man. 70One had a cat’s face,One whisked a tail,One tramped at a rat’s pace,One crawled like a snail,One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.She heard a voice like voice of dovesCooing all together:They sounded kind and full of lovesIn the pleasant weather. 80
Laura stretched her gleaming neckLike a rush-imbedded swan,Like a lily from the beck,Like a moonlit poplar branch,Like a vessel at the launchWhen its last restraint is gone.
Backwards up the mossy glenTurned and trooped the goblin men,With their shrill repeated cry,‘Come buy, come buy.’ 90When they reached where Laura wasThey stood stock still upon the moss,Leering at each other,Brother with queer brother;Signalling each other,Brother with sly brother.One set his basket down,One reared his plate;One began to weave a crownOf tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown 100(Men sell not such in any town);One heaved the golden weightOf dish and fruit to offer her:‘Come buy, come buy,’ was still their cry.Laura stared but did not stir,Longed but had no money:The whisk-tailed merchant bade her tasteIn tones as smooth as honey,The cat-faced purr’d,The rat-faced spoke a word 110Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;One parrot-voiced and jollyCried ‘Pretty Goblin’ still for ‘Pretty Polly;’ — One whistled like a bird.
But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:‘Good folk, I have no coin;To take were to purloin:I have no copper in my purse,I have no silver either,And all my gold is on the furze 120That shakes in windy weatherAbove the rusty heather.’‘You have much gold upon your head,’They answered all together:‘Buy from us with a golden curl.’She clipped a precious golden lock,She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:Sweeter than honey from the rock,Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, 130Clearer than water flowed that juice;She never tasted such before,How should it cloy with length of use?She sucked and sucked and sucked the moreFruits which that unknown orchard bore;She sucked until her lips were sore;Then flung the emptied rinds awayBut gathered up one kernel stone,And knew not was it night or dayAs she turned home alone. 140
Lizzie met her at the gateFull of wise upbraidings:‘Dear, you should not stay so late,Twilight is not good for maidens;Should not loiter in the glenIn the haunts of goblin men.Do you not remember Jeanie,How she met them in the moonlight,Took their gifts both choice and many,Ate their fruits and wore their flowers 150Plucked from bowersWhere summer ripens at all hours?But ever in the noonlightShe pined and pined away;Sought them by night and day,Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey;Then fell with the first snow,While to this day no grass will growWhere she lies low:I planted daisies there a year ago 160That never blow.You should not loiter so.’‘Nay, hush,’ said Laura:‘Nay, hush, my sister:I ate and ate my fill,Yet my mouth waters still;To-morrow night I willBuy more:’ and kissed her:‘Have done with sorrow;I’ll bring you plums to-morrow 170Fresh on their mother twigs,Cherries worth getting;You cannot think what figsMy teeth have met in,What melons icy-coldPiled on a dish of goldToo huge for me to hold,What peaches with a velvet nap,Pellucid grapes without one seed:Odorous indeed must be the mead 180Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drinkWith lilies at the brink,And sugar-sweet their sap.’
Golden head by golden head,Like two pigeons in one nestFolded in each other’s wings,They lay down in their curtained bed:Like two blossoms on one stem,Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow,Like two wands of ivory 190Tipped with gold for awful kings.Moon and stars gazed in at them,Wind sang to them lullaby,Lumbering owls forbore to fly,Not a bat flapped to and froRound their rest:Cheek to cheek and breast to breastLocked together in one nest.
Early in the morningWhen the first cock crowed his warning, 200Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,Laura rose with Lizzie:Fetched in honey, milked the cows,Aired and set to rights the house,Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,Next churned butter, whipped up cream,Fed their poultry, sat and sewed;Talked as modest maidens should:Lizzie with an open heart, 210Laura in an absent dream,One content, one sick in part;One warbling for the mere bright day’s delight,One longing for the night.
At length slow evening came:They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;Lizzie most placid in her look,Laura most like a leaping flame.They drew the gurgling water from its deep;Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags, 220Then turning homeward said: ‘The sunset flushesThose furthest loftiest crags;Come, Laura, not another maiden lags,No wilful squirrel wags,The beasts and birds are fast asleep.’But Laura loitered still among the rushesAnd said the bank was steep.
And said the hour was early stillThe dew not fall’n, the wind not chill:Listening ever, but not catching 230The customary cry,‘Come buy, come buy,’With its iterated jingleOf sugar-baited words:Not for all her watchingOnce discerning even one goblinRacing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;Let alone the herdsThat used to tramp along the glen,In groups or single, 240Of brisk fruit-merchant men.
Till Lizzie urged, ‘O Laura, come;I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look:You should not loiter longer at this brook:Come with me home.The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,Each glowworm winks her spark,Let us get home before the night grows dark:For clouds may gatherThough this is summer weather, 250Put out the lights and drench us through;Then if we lost our way what should we do?’
Laura turned cold as stoneTo find her sister heard that cry alone,That goblin cry,‘Come buy our fruits, come buy.’Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?Must she no more such succous pasture find,Gone deaf and blind?Her tree of life drooped from the root: 260She said not one word in her heart’s sore ache;But peering thro’ the dimness, nought discerning,Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way;So crept to bed, and laySilent till Lizzie slept;Then sat up in a passionate yearning,And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire, and weptAs if her heart would break.
Day after day, night after night,Laura kept watch in vain 270In sullen silence of exceeding pain.She never caught again the goblin cry:‘Come buy, come buy;’ — She never spied the goblin menHawking their fruits along the glen:But when the noon waxed brightHer hair grew thin and grey;She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turnTo swift decay and burnHer fire away. 280
One day remembering her kernel-stoneShe set it by a wall that faced the south;Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,Watched for a waxing shoot,But there came none;It never saw the sun,It never felt the trickling moisture run:While with sunk eyes and faded mouthShe dreamed of melons, as a traveller seesFalse waves in desert drouth 290With shade of leaf-crowned trees,And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.
She no more swept the house,Tended the fowls or cows,Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,Brought water from the brook:But sat down listless in the chimney-nookAnd would not eat.
Tender Lizzie could not bearTo watch her sister’s cankerous care 300Yet not to share.She night and morningCaught the goblins’ cry:‘Come buy our orchard fruits,Come buy, come buy:’ — Beside the brook, along the glen,
