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Best Famous Christina Rossetti Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Christina Rossetti poems. This is a select list of the best famous Christina Rossetti poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Christina Rossetti poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Christina Rossetti poems.

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Written by Christina Rossetti | |

A Daughter of Eve

A fool I was to sleep at noon,
  And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
  A fool to snap my lily.
My garden-plot I have not kept; Faded and all-forsaken, I weep as I have never wept: Oh it was summer when I slept, It's winter now I waken.
Talk what you please of future spring And sun-warm'd sweet to-morrow:— Stripp'd bare of hope and everything, No more to laugh, no more to sing, I sit alone with sorrow.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

In an Artists Studio

One face looks out from all his canvases,
     One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:
     We found her hidden just behind those screens,
That mirror gave back all her loveliness.
A queen in opal or in ruby dress, A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens, A saint, an angel—every canvas means The same one meaning, neither more nor less.
He feeds upon her face by day and night, And she with true kind eyes looks back on him, Fair as the moon and joyful as the light: Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; No as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

Uphill

 DOES the road wind uphill all the way? 
 Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you waiting at that door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come.


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Written by Christina Rossetti | |

A Birthday

 My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

Remember

 Remember me when I am gone away,
 Gone far away into the silent land;
 When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

When I am dead my dearest

 When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And 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, And haply may forget.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

Who Has Seen the Wind?

 Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

What Would I Give

 What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through,
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do!
Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all.
What would I give for words, if only words would come! But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb.
O merry friends, go your own way, I have never a word to say.
What would I give for tears! Not smiles but scalding tears, To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years, To wash the stain ingrain, and to make me clean again.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

A Study (A Soul)

 She stands as pale as Parian statues stand;
 Like Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
 And felt her strength above the Roman sway,
And felt the aspic writhing in her hand.
Her face is steadfast toward the shadowy land, For dim beyond it looms the light of day; Her feet are steadfast; all the arduous way That foot-track hath not wavered on the sand.
She stands there like a beacon thro' the night, A pale clear beacon where the storm-drift is; She stands alone, a wonder deathly white; She stands there patient, nerved with inner might, Indomitable in her feebleness, Her face and will athirst against the light.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

Winter: My Secret

 I tell my secret? No indeed, not I:
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows,
And you're too curious: fie!
You want to hear it? well:
Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell.
Or, after all, perhaps there's none: Suppose there is no secret after all, But only just my fun.
Today's a nipping day, a biting day; In which one wants a shawl, A veil, a cloak, and other wraps: I cannot ope to every one who taps, And let the draughts come whistling thro' my hall; Come bounding and surrounding me, Come buffeting, astounding me, Nipping and clipping thro' my wraps and all.
I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows His nose to Russian snows To be pecked at by every wind that blows? You would not peck? I thank you for good will, Believe, but leave that truth untested still.
Spring's and expansive time: yet I don't trust March with its peck of dust, Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, Nor even May, whose flowers One frost may wither thro' the sunless hours.
Perhaps some languid summer day, When drowsy birds sing less and less, And golden fruit is ripening to excess, If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud, And the warm wind is neither still nor loud, Perhaps my secret I may say, Or you may guess.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

Cousin Kate

 I 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 a great lord find me out, To fill my heart with care? He lured me to his palace home - Woe's me for joy thereof- To lead a shameless shameful life, His plaything and his love.
He wore me like a silken knot, He changed me like a glove; So now I moan, an unclean thing, Who might have been a dove.
O Lady kate, my cousin Kate, You grew more fair than I: He saw you at your father's gate, Chose you, and cast me by.
He watched your steps along the lane, Your work among the rye; He lifted you from mean estate To sit with him on high.
Because you were so good and pure He bound you with his ring: The neighbors call you good and pure, Call me an outcast thing.
Even so I sit and howl in dust, You sit in gold and sing: Now which of us has tenderer heart? You had the stronger wing.
O cousin Kate, my love was true, Your love was writ in sand: If he had fooled not me but you, If you stood where I stand, He'd not have won me with his love Nor bought me with his land; I would have spit into his face And not have taken his hand.
Yet I've a gift you have not got, And seem not like to get: For all your clothes and wedding-ring I've little doubt you fret.
My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride, Cling closer, closer yet: Your father would give his lands for one To wear his coronet.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

Promises Like Pie-Crust

 Promise me no promises,
So will I not promise you:
Keep we both our liberties,
Never false and never true:
Let us hold the die uncast,
Free to come as free to go:
For I cannot know your past,
And of mine what can you know?

You, so warm, may once have been
Warmer towards another one:
I, so cold, may once have seen
Sunlight, once have felt the sun:
Who shall show us if it was
Thus indeed in time of old?
Fades the image from the glass,
And the fortune is not told.
If you promised, you might grieve For lost liberty again: If I promised, I believe I should fret to break the chain.
Let us be the friends we were, Nothing more but nothing less: Many thrive on frugal fare Who would perish of excess.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

Dream Land

 Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star, She came from very far To seek where shadows are Her pleasant lot.
She left the rosy morn, She left the fields of corn, For twilight cold and lorn And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil, She sees the sky look pale, And hears the nightingale That sadly sings.
Rest, rest, a perfect rest Shed over brow and breast; Her face is toward the west, The purple land.
She cannot see the grain Ripening on hill and plain; She cannot feel the rain Upon her hand.
Rest, rest, for evermore Upon a mossy shore; Rest, rest at the heart's core Till time shall cease: Sleep that no pain shall wake; Night that no morn shall break Till joy shall overtake Her perfect peace.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

A Better Ressurection

 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: 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.


Written by Christina Rossetti | |

No Thank You John

 I never said I loved you, John:
Why will you tease me day by day,
And wax a weariness to think upon
With always "do" and "pray"?

You Know I never loved you, John;
No fault of mine made me your toast:
Why will you haunt me with a face as wan
As shows an hour-old ghost?

I dare say Meg or Moll would take
Pity upon you, if you'd ask:
And pray don't remain single for my sake
Who can't perform the task.
I have no heart?-Perhaps I have not; But then you're mad to take offence That don't give you what I have not got: Use your common sense.
Let bygones be bygones: Don't call me false, who owed not to be true: I'd rather answer "No" to fifty Johns Than answer "Yes" to you.
Let's mar our plesant days no more, Song-birds of passage, days of youth: Catch at today, forget the days before: I'll wink at your untruth.
Let us strike hands as hearty friends; No more, no less; and friendship's good: Only don't keep in veiw ulterior ends, And points not understood In open treaty.
Rise above Quibbles and shuffling off and on: Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,- No, thank you, John.