 Section 1 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Silent Noon by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass. The finger points look through like rosy blooms. Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms Neath bellowing skies that scatter and amass. All round our nest far as the eye can pass Are golden king cup fields with silver edge Where the cow parsley skirts the hawthorn hedge. Tis visible silence, still as the hourglass. Deep in the sun-searched growths The dragonfly hangs like a blue thread Loosened from the sky. So this winged hour is dropped to us from above. O clasp we to our hearts for deathless dour This close companion in articulate hour In twofold silence was the song of love. End of Silent Noon by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section No. 2 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. A Birthday by Christina Rossetti. My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered chute. My heart is like an apple tree Whose mouths are bent with thick set fruit. My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea. My heart is gladder than all these Because my love has come to me. Raise me a deus of silk and down. Hang it with there in 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 fleur-de-lis. Because the birthday of my life is come. My love is come to me. End of A Birthday by Christina Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 3 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. A Little While by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. A little while a little love The hour yet bears for thee and me Who have not drawn the veil To see if still our heaven be lit above. Thou, merely at the day's last sigh, Has felt thy soul prolong the tone, And I have heard the night wind cry And deemed its speech mine own. A little while a little love The scattering autumn hoards for us Whose bower is not yet ruinous Nor quite unleaved our songless grove. Only across the shaken boughs We hear the flood tides seek the sea. And deep in both our hearts They rouse one wail for thee and me. A little while a little love May yet be ours who have not said the word It makes our eyes afraid to know That each is thinking of. Not yet the end. Be our lips dumb and smiles A little season yet. I'll tell thee when the end is come How we may best forget. End of A Little While by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section four of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Remember by Christina Rossetti. 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 have turned to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned. 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. End of Remember by Christina Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section five of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. My Sister's Sleep by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. She fell asleep on Christmas Eve. At length the long ungranted shade Of weary eyelids overweighed The pain not else might yet relieve. Our mother who had leaned all day Over the bed from chime to chime Then raised herself for the first time And as she sat her down did pray. Her little work table was spread with work to finish For the glare made by her candle She had care to work some distance from the bed. Without there was a cold moon up Of winter radiance sheer and thin. The hollow halo it was in Like an icy crystal cup. Through the small room With subtle sound of flame By vents the fireshine drove and reddened. In its dim alcove The mirror shed a clearness round. I had been sitting up some nights And my tired mind felt weak and blank. Like a sharp strengthening wine It drank the stillness and the broken lights. Twelve struck. That sound by dwindling years Heard in each hour crept off And then the ruffled silence spread again Like water that a pebble stirs. Our mother rose from where she sat Her needles as she laid them down met lightly And her silken gown settled. No other noise than that. Glory unto the newly born. So as said angels she did say Because we were in Christmas day Though it would still belong till morning. Just then in the room over us There was a pushing back of chairs As some who had sat unaware so late Now heard the hour and rose. With anxious softly stepping haste Our mother went where Margaret lay Fearing the sounds or head Should they have broken her long watched for rest. She stooped an instant calm and turned But suddenly turned back again And all her features seemed in pain with woe And her eyes gazed and yearned For my part I but hid my face And held my breath and spoke no word. There was none spoken but I heard The silence for a little space Our mother bowed herself and wept And both my arms fell and I said God knows I knew that she was dead. And there all white my sister slept Then kneeling upon Christmas morn A little after twelve o'clock We said ere the first quarter struck Christ's blessing on the newly born End of My Sister's Sleep by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 6 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Maude Claire by Christina Rossetti Out of the church she followed them With lofty step and mean His bride was like a village maid Maude Claire was like a queen Son Thomas, his lady mother said With smiles, almost with tears May Nell anew but live as true As we have done for years Your father thirty years ago Had just your tale to tell But he was not so pale as you Nor I so pale as Nell My lord was pale with inward strife And Nell was pale with pride My lord gazed long on pale Maude Claire Or ere he kissed the bride Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord Have brought my gift, she said To bless the hearth, to bless the board To bless the marriage-bed Here's my half of the golden chain You wore about your neck That day we waited ankle-deep For lilies in the beck Here's my half of the faded leaves We plucked from budding bow With feet amongst the lily-leaves The lilies are budding now He strove to match her scorn with scorn He faltered in his place Lady, he said Maude Claire, he said Maude Claire And he at his face She turned to Nell My lady Nell, I have a gift for you Though were it fruit the bloom were gone Or were it flowers the dew Take my share of a fickle heart Mine of a paltry love Take it or leave it as you will I wash my hands thereof And what you leave, said Nell I'll take, and what you spurn I'll wear, for he's my lord For better and worse And him I love Maude Claire Yea, though you're taller by the head More wise and much more fair I'll love him till he loves me best Me best of all, Maude Claire End of Maude Claire by Christina Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section number seven of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Sudden Light by Dante Gabriel Rossetti I have been here before But when or how I cannot tell I know the grass beyond the door The sweet keen smell, the sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before. How long ago I may not know, but just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, some veil did fall. I knew it all of your. Has this been thus before, and shall not thus Time's eddying flight still with our lives, our love restore In death's despite, and day and night yield one delight once more. End of Sudden Light by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section number eight of Selected Poems by Cristina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Dreamland by Cristina Rossetti. Well, 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 blot. 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, forevermore 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. End of Dreamland by Cristina Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section number nine of Selected Poems by Cristina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Souls' Beauty by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Under the arch of life were love and death, terror and mystery guard her shrine. I saw beauty enthroned, and though her gaze struck awe, I drew it in as simply as my breath. Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath, the sky and sea bend on thee, which can draw by sea or sky or woman to one law the allotted bond man of her palm and wreath. This is that Lady Beauty in whose praise thy voice and hand shake still, long known to thee by flying hair and fluttering hem, the beat following her daily of thy heart and feet, how passionately and irretrievably in what fond flight, how many ways and days. End of Souls' Beauty by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section number 10 of Selected Poems by Cristina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Bodies' Beauty by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told, the witch he loved before the gift of Eve, that ere the snakes her sweet tongue could deceive, and her enchanted hair was the first gold. And still she sits, young while the earth is old, and subtly of herself contemplative, draws men to watch the bright web she can weave, till heart and body and life are in its hold. The rose and poppy are her flowers. For where is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent and soft shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Low as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent, and round his heart one strangling golden hair. End of Bodies' Beauty by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 11 of Selected Forms by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti. Morning and evening maids heard the goblins cry, come by, our orchard fruits, come by, come by. Purple and quenches, lemons and oranges, clump and peck cherries, headbellons and raspberries, loom-down-cheeked peaches, sweat-headed mulberries, wild, free-born grandberries, crab-apples, dewberries, pineapple, blackberries, apricots, strawberries, all ripe together in summer weather. Warns that pass by, fair eaves that fly, come by, come by. Our grapes fresh from the vine, pomegranates full and fine, dates and sharp bullesses, rare pears and green-gaters. Gramsons and billberries, taste them and try. Currants and gooseberries, bright fire like barberries, fakes to fill your mouth, sift them from the south, sweet to tongue and sound to eye, come by, come by. Evening by evening along the Brookside brushes, Laura bowed her head to hear. Lizzie veiled her blushes, crouching close together in the cooling weather with clasping arms and cautioning lips, with tingling cheeks and fingertips. Lie close, Laura said, pricking up her golden head. We must not look at goblin men. We must not buy their fruits. Who knows upon what soil they fed their hungry thirsty roots? Come by, called the goblins, hobbling down the glen. Oh, guide Lizzie, Laura, Laura, you should not peep at goblin men. Lizzie covered up her eyes, covered 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 dish of many pounds weight. How fair the vine must grow, whose grapes are so luscious. How warm the wind must blow through those fruit bushes. No, said Lizzie, no, no, no. Their offers should not charm us. Their evil gifts would harm us. She thrust the dimpled finger in each ear, shut eyes, and ran. Curious Laura chose to linger, wondering at each merchant man. One had a cat's face, one whisked a tail, one tramped at a rat's face, one crawled like a snail, one like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry, one like a rattle, tumbled hurry-scurry. She heard a voice like voice of doves cooing all together. They sounded kind and full of loves in the pleasant weather. Laura stretched her gleaming neck like a rush-embedded swan, like a lily from the beck, like a moonlit poplar branch, like a vessel at the launch when its last restraint is gone. Backwards up the mossy glen, turned and trooped the goblin men with their shrill repeated cry, come by, come by. When they reached where Laura was, they stood stock still upon the moss, leering at each other, brother with queer brother, signaling each other, brother with sly brother. One set his basket down, one reared his plate, one began to weave a crown of tendrils, leaves and rough nuts brown, men sell not such in any town. One heaved the golden weight of dish and fruit to offer her, come by, come by, was still there cry. Laura stared but did not stir, longed but had no money. The whisk-tailed merchant battered taste in tones as smooth as honey. The cat-face purred, the rat-faced spoke a word of welcome and the snail-paste even was heard. One parrot-voiced and jolly cried, Prattick, I blen, still for pretty Polly, one whistled like a burg. But sweet tooth Laura spoke in haste, good folk I have no coin to take were to perloin. I have no copper in my purse, I have no silver either and all my gold is on the furs that shakes and windy weather above 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, clearer than water flowed that juice. She never tasted such before, how should a cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more fruit which that unknown orchard bore. She sucked until her lips were sore, then flung the emptied rinds away, but gathered up one kernel stone and knew not was at night or day as she turned home alone. Lizzie met her at the gate full of wise-up braidings, dear, you should not stay so late, twilight is not good for maidens, should not loiter in the glen and the haunts of goblin men. Do you not remember Jeanne, how she met them in the moonlight, took their gifts, both choice and many, ate their fruits and wore their flowers, plucked from bowers where summer ripens at all hours? But ever in the moonlight she pined and pined away, sought them by night and day, found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray, then fell with the first snow, while to this day no grass will grow where she lies low. I planted daisies there a year ago that never blow, you should not loiter so. Nay hush, said Laura, nay hushed my sister, I ate and ate my fill, yet my mouth waters still, tomorrow night I will buy more and kissed her. Have done with sorrow, I'll bring you prompts tomorrow, fresh on their mother twigs, cherries worth getting, you cannot think what figs by teeth have met in, what melons icy cold piled on a dish of gold, too huge for me to hold, what peaches with a velvet nap, pelucid grapes without one seed. Odorous indeed must be the mead for on they grow, and pure the way they drink with lilies at the brink, and sugar-sweet their sap. Golden head by golden head, like two pigeons in one nest, folding in each other's wings, they lay down in their curtened bed, like two blossoms on one stem, like two flicks of new-fallen snow, like two wands of ivory tipped 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 fro round their rest, cheek to cheek and breast to breast, locked together in one nest. Early in the morning when the first cock crowed his warning, neat like bees as sweet and busy, Laura rose with Lizzy. Fetched in honey, milked the cows, aired and sat 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 sowed, talked as modest maidens should, Lizzy with an open heart, Laura 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 pictures to the reedy brook, Lizzy most placid in her look, Laura most like a leaping flame. They drew the gurgling water from its deep, Lizzy plucked purple and rich golden flags, then turning homeward said, the sunlight flushes those furthest loftiest crags, come Laura, not another maiden lags, no willful squirrel wags, the beasts and birds are fast asleep. But Laura loitered still among the rushes and said the bank was steep and said the hour was early still, the dew not fallen, the wind not chill. Listening ever but not catching the customary cry, come by, come by with its iterated jingle of sugar-baited words, not for all her watching, once discerning even one goblin, racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling, let alone the herds that used to tramp along the glen in groups or single of brisk fruit-merchant men. Till Lizzy urged, oh 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 glow-worm winks her spark. Let us get home before the night grows dark, for clouds of a gather, though sets of summer weather, put out the lights and drench us through, then if we lost our way, what should we do? Laura turned cold as stone to find her sister, heard that cry alone, that goblin cry, come by our fruits, come by. Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit? Must she no more such succus pasture find, gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root. She said not one word in her heart's sore ache, but peering through the dimness, not discerning, trudged home, her picture dripping all the way. So crept to bed and lay silent till Lizzy slept, then sat up in a passionate yearning and gnashed her teeth for balked desire and wept as if her heart would break. Day after day, night after night, Laura kept watch in vain, in sullen silence of exceeding pain. She never caught again the goblin cry, come by, come by. She never spied the goblin men, hawking their fruits along the glen. But when the noon waxed bright, her hair grew thin and gray. She dwindled as the fair full moon doth turn to swift decay and burn her fire away. One day, remembering her kernel stone, she set up by a wall that faced the south, dued it with tears, hoped for a root, watched for a waxing shoot. But there came none. It never saw the sun, it never felt a trickling moisture run, while with sunk eyes and faded mouth, she dreamed of melons as a traveler sees false waves and desert drowth with shade of leaf crowned trees and burns the thirstier in the sand full breeze. She no more swept the house, tended the fowls or cows, fetched honey, needed cakes of wheat, brought water from the brook, but sat down listless in the chimney nook and would not eat. Tender Lizzie could not bear to watch her sister's cankerous care, yet not to share. She night and morning caught the goblins cry, come by our orchard fruits, come by, come by. Beside the brook along the glen, she heard the tramp of goblin men, the voice and stir poor Laura could not hear, long to buy fruit to comfort her, but feared to pay too dear. She thought of Jeanne and her grave, who should have been a bride, but who for joys brides hoped to have, fell sick and died in her gay prime, in earliest winter time, with the first glazing rhyme, with the first snowfall of crisp winter time. Till Laura dwindling seemed knocking at death's door, then Lizzie weighed no more, better and worse, but put a silver penny in her purse, kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furs at twilight, halted by the brook, and for the first time in her life began to listen and look. Laughed every goblin when they spied her peeping, came towards her hobbling, flying, running, leaping, puffing and blowing, chuckling, clapping, rowing, clucking and gobling, mopping and mowing, full of heirs and graces, pulling rye faces, demure grimaces, cat-like and rat-like, rattle and wombat-like, snail-paste in a hurry, parrot-voiced and whistler, helter-stelter, hurry, scurry, chattering like bagpies, fluttering like pigeons, gliding like fishes, hugged her and kissed her, squeezed and caressed her, stretched up their dishes, panniers and plates. Look at our apples rusted and done, bob and our cherries, bite at our peaches, citrus and dates, ripe for the asking, perish red with basking, out of the sun, plums on their twigs, pluck them and sup them, palm-grenades, figs. Good folks said Lizzie, mindful of Jeannie, give me much and many, held out her apron, tossed them her penny. Nay, take a seat with us, honor and eat with us, they answered grinning. Our feast is what beginning, night yet is early, warm and duperly, wakeful and starry, so that fruits as these no man can carry, half their bloom would fly, half their dew would dry, half their flavor would pass by. Sit down at feast with us, be welcome guest with us, cheer you and rest with us. Thank you, said Lizzie, but one waits at home alone for me. So without further parlaying, if you will not sell me any of your fruits, though much and many, give me back my silver penny I tossed you for a fee. They began to scratch their pates, no longer wagging, purring, but visibly demuring, grunting and snarling. One called her proud, cross-grained, uncivil, their tones waxed loud, their looks were evil, lashing their tails, they trod and hustled her, elbowed and jostled her, clawed with their nails, barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, tore her gown and soiled her stocking, twitched her hair out by the roots, stamped upon her tender feet, held her hands and squeezed their fruits against her mouth to make her eat. White and gold and Lizzie stood, like a lily in a flood, like a rock of blue-veined stone, lashed by tides obstreperously, like a beacon left alone in a hoary, roaring sea, sending up a golden fire, like a fruit-crowned orange tree, white with blossoms, honey-sweet, sore beset by wasp and bee, like a royal virgin town, topped with gilded dome-inspire, close beleaguered by a fleet, mad to tug her standard down. One may lead a horse to water, to what he cannot make him drink, though the goblins cuffed and caught her, coaxed and fought her, bullied and besought her, scratched her, pinched her, black as ink, kicked and knocked her, mauled and mocked her. Lizzie, uttered not a word, would not open lip from lip, lest they should cram a mouthful in, but laughed in heart to feel the drip of juice that surrept all her face and lodged in temples of her chin and streaked her neck, which quaked like curd. At last the evil people, worn out by her resistance, flung back her penny, kicked their fruit along whichever road they took, not leaving root or stone or chute. Some writhed into the ground, some dived into the brook with ring and ripple, some scutted on the gale without a sound, some vanished in the distance. In a smart ache tingle, Lizzie went her way, knew not was at night or day, sprang up the bank, tore through the furs, threaded cups and dingle, and heard her penny jingle bouncing in her purse. Its bounce was music to her ear. She ran and ran as if she feared some goblin man dogged her with jive or curse or something worse. But not one goblin scurried after, nor was she pricked by fear. The kind heart made her windy paste that urged her home quite out of breath with haste and inward laughter. She cried, Laura up the garden, did you miss me? Come and kiss me, nevermind my bruises, hug me, kiss me, suck my juices squeezed from goblin fruits for you, goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me, Laura make much of me. For your sake I have braved the glen and had to do with goblin merchant men. Laura started from her chair, flung her arms up in the air, clutched her hair. Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted for my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden, your young life like mine be wasted, undone in mine undoing and ruined in my ruin? Thirsty, cankered, goblin ridden. She clung about her sister, kissed and kissed and kissed her. Tears once again refreshed her shrunken eyes, dropping like rain after long sultry drowth. Shaking with eggish fear and pain, she kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. Her lips began to scorch, that juice was wormwood to her tongue. She loathed the feast, writhing as one possessed, she leaped and sung, rent all her robe and rung her hands in lamentable haste and beat her breast. Her locks streamed like the torch borne by a racer at full speed, or like the mane of horses in their flight, or like an eagle when she stems the light straight toward the sun, or like a cage thing freed, or like a flying flag when armies run. Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart, met the fire smoldering there and overboard its lesser flame. She gorged on bitterness without a name, ah, fool to choose such part of soul-consuming care. Sense failed in the mortal strife, like the watchtower of a town which an earthquake shatters down, like a lightning-stricken mast, like a wind-up-rooted tree spun about, like a foam-topped waterspout cast down headlong in the sea, she fell at last, pleasure passed and anguish passed. Is it death or is it life? Life out of death, that night long Lizzie watched by her, counted her pulses flagging stir, felt for her breath, held water to her lips and cooled her face with tears and fanning leaves. But when the first birds chirped about their eaves and early reapers plotted to the place of golden sheaves and due wet grass bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass and new buds with new day opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, laughed in the innocent old way, hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice, her gleaming locks showed not one thread of gray, her breath was sweet as may and light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years afterwards when both were wives with children of their own, their mother hearts beset with fears, their lives bound up in tender lives. Laura would call the little ones and tell them of her early prime, those pleasant days long gone of not returning time, would talk about the haunted glen, the wicked quaint fruit merchant men, their fruits like honey to the throat but poison in the blood. Men sell not such in any town. Would tell them how her sister stood in deadly peril to do her good and win the fiery antidote. Then joining hands to little hands would bid them cling together, for there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather, to cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands. End of Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti, recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 12 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Autumn Song by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Notice thou not at the fall of the leaf how the heart feels a languid grief laid on it for a covering and how sleep seems a goodly thing in autumn at the fall of the leaf and how the swift beat of the brain falters because it is in vain in autumn at the fall of the leaf, notice thou not and how the chief of joys seems not to suffer pain. Notice thou not at the fall of the leaf how the soul feels like a dried sheaf bound up at length for harvesting and how death seems a comely thing in autumn at the fall of the leaf. End of Autumn Song by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 13 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Song by Christina Rossetti. 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 does not rise nor set, happily I may remember and happily may forget. End of Song by Christina Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 14 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. The Choice, Sonnet One by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Eat thou and drink. Tomorrow thou shalt die. Surely the earth that's wise, being very old, needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold thy sultry hair up from my face that I may pour for thee this golden wine, brim high till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold. We'll drown all ours. Thy song, while ours are told, shall leap as fountains fail the changing sky. Now kiss and think that there are really those my own high bosomed beauty who increase vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way. Through many years they toil, then on a day they die not for their life was death, but cease, and round their narrow lips the mold falls close. The choice, Sonnet Two, watch thou and fear. Tomorrow thou shalt die, or art thou sure thou shalt have time for death. Is not the day which God's word promises to come man knows not when? In yonder sky, now while we speak, the sun speeds forth. Can I or thou assure him of his goal? God's breath even at the moment happily quickeneth the air to a flame, till spirits always nigh, though screened and hid, shall walk the daylight here. And does thou pray of all that man shall do? Can'ts thou who hast but plagues presumed to be glad in his gladness that comes after thee? Will his strength slay thy worm in hell? Go to, cover thy countenance and watch, and fear, the choice, Sonnet Three, think thou and act, tomorrow thou shalt die. Outstretched in the sun's warmth upon the shore, thou sayest, man's measured path is all gone o'er, up all his years steeply with strain and sigh, man clomb until he touched the truth, and I, even I, am he whom it was destined for. How should this be? Art thou then so much more than they who sowed that thou shouldst reap thereby? Nay, come up hither, from this wave-washed mound unto the furthest flood-brim, look with me, then reach on with thy thought till it be drowned, miles and miles distant, though the last line be, and though thy soul sail leagues and leagues beyond. Still, leagues beyond those leagues, there is more sea. End of The Choice, Sonnets One, Two, and Three by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 15 of Selected Poems by Cristina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. After Death, a sonnet by Cristina Rossetti. The curtains were half-drawn, the floor was swept and strewn with rushes. Rosemary and May lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, where, through the lattice, ivy shadows crept. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept, and could not hear him. But I heard him say, poor child, poor child. And as he turned away came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud or raise the fold that hid my face, or take my hand in his, or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head. He did not love me living, but, once dead, he pitied me. And very sweet it is to know he still is warm, though I am cold. End of After Death by Cristina Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 16 of Selected Poems by Cristina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. The Love Letter by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Worn to by her hand and shadowed by her hair, as close she leaned and poured her heart through thee, whereof the articulate throbs accompany the smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair, sweet, fluttering sheet, even of her breath aware. Oh, let thy silent song disclose to me that soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree, like married music in love's answering air. Then had I watched her when, at some fond thought, her bosom to the writing closely oppressed, and her breast's secrets peered into her breast. When, through eyes raised and instant, her soul sought my soul, and from the sudden confluence caught the words that made her love the loveliest. End of The Love Letter by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 17 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. No, thank you, John, by Christina Rossetti. I never said I loved you, John. Why will you tease me day by day and wax a weariness to think upon with always due and prey? You know I never loved you, John. No fault of mine made me your toast. Why would you haunt me with a face as one as shows an hour old ghost? I dare say Meg or Mal would take pity upon you, if you'd ask, and pray don't remain single for my sake who can't perform that task. I have no heart, perhaps I have not, but then you're mad to take offense that I don't give you what I have not got. Use your own common sense. Let bygones be bygones. Don't call me false who owed not to be true. I'd rather answer no to 50 Johns than answer yes to you. Let's mar our pleasant days no more. Songbirds of passage, days of youth. Catch up today, forget the days before. I'll wink at your untruth. Let us strike hands as hearty friends, no more, no less, and friendships good. Only don't keep in view all carrier 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. End of No Thank You, John by Christina Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 18 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. The Hill Summit by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This feast day of the sun, his altar there in the broad west has blazed for Vesper song. And I have loitered in the veil too long and gaze now a belated worshiper. Yet may I not forget that I was aware so journeying of his face at intervals, transfigured where the fringe horizon falls, a fiery bush with coruscating hair. And now that I have climbed and won this height, I must tread downward through the sloping shade and travel the bewildered tracks till night. Yet for this hour, I still may here be stayed and see the gold air and the silver fade and the last bird fly into the last light. End of The Hill Summit by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 19 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Love from the North by Christina Rossetti. I had a love in soft Southland beloved through April, far in May. He waited on my lightest breath and never dared to say me nay. He saddened if my cheer was sad, but gay he grew if I was gay. We never dippered on a hair. My yes, his yes, my nay, his nay. The wedding hour was come. The aisles were flushed with sun and flowers that day. I pacing balanced in my thoughts. It's quite too late to think of nay. My bridegroom answered in his turn. Myself had almost answered yay. When through the flashing nave, I heard a struggle and resounding nay. Bridesmaids and bridegroom shrank in fear, but I stood high who stood at bay. And if I answer yay fair sir, what man art thou to bar with nay? He was a strong man from the North, light locked with eyes of dangerous gray. Put yay by for another time, in which I will not say thee nay. He took me in his strong white arms. He bore me on his horse away, or crag, morass, and hair-breadth pass, but never asked me yay or nay. He made me fast with book and bail, with links of love he makes me stay. Till now I've neither heart nor power, nor will nor wish to say him nay. End of Love From the North by Christina Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 20 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. The Blessed D'Amoselle by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. The Blessed D'Amoselle leaned out from the gold bar of heaven. Her eyes were deeper than the depth of waters, stilled at even. She had three lilies in her hand, and the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, no wrought flowers did adorn, but a white rose of Mary's gift for service meately worn. Her hair that lay along her back was yellow like ripe corn. Her seemed as she scarce had been a day one of God's choristers. The wonder was not yet quite gone from that still look of hers. Albeit to them she left, her day had counted as 10 years. To one it is 10 years of years. Yet now and in this place, surely she leaned over me. Her hair fell all about by face. Nothing, the autumn fall of leaves, the whole year sets apace. It was the rampart of God's house that she was standing on. By God built over the sheer depth the witches' space begun. So high that looking downward dense, she scarce could see the sun. It lies in heaven across the flood of ether as a bridge. Beneath the tides of day and night with flame and darkness ridged the void, as low as where this earth spins like a fretful midge. Around her lovers newly met, mid-deathless loves acclaims, spoke evermore among themselves their heart-remembered names, and the souls mounting up to God went by her like thin flames. And still she bowed herself and stooped out of the circling charm, until her bosom must have made the bar she leaned on warm and the lilies lay as if asleep along her bended arm. From the fixed place of heaven she saw time like a pulse shake fierce through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove within the gulf to pierce its path. And now she spoke as when the stars sang in their spheres. The sun was gone now, the curled moon was like a little feather fluttering far down the gulf. And now she spoke through the still weather. Her voice was like the voice the stars had when they sang together. Oh, sweet! Even now that birdsong strove not her accents there faintly hearkened when those bells possessed the midday air strove not her steps to reach my side down all the echoing stair. I wish that he were come to me for he will come, she said. Have I not prayed in heaven, on earth? Lord, Lord, has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? When round his head the Oreo clings and he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand and go with him to the deep wells of light. As unto a stream we will step down and bathe there in God's sight. We too will stand beside that shrine occult, withheld, untrodd, whose lamps are stirred continually with prayer set up to God and see our old prayers granted melt each like a little cloud. We too will lie in the shadow of that living mystic tree within whose secret growth the dove is sometimes felt to be while every leaf that his plumes touch saith his name audibly. And I myself will teach to him I myself, lying so, the songs I sing here, which his voice shall pause in, hushed and slow, and find some knowledge at each pause or some new thing to know. Unless we too, we too thou sayest, yea, one was thou with me that once of old, but shall God lift to endless unity the soul whose likeness with thy soul was but its love for thee? We too, she said, will seek the groves where the lady Mary is, with her five handbatons, whose names are five sweet symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalene, Margaret, and Rosalys. Circle-wise sit they with bound locks and foreheads garlanded, into the fine cloth, white like flame, weaving the golden thread to fashion the birth-robes for them who are just born, being dead. He shall fear happily and be dumb, then will I lay my cheek to his and tell about our love not once abashed or weak, and the dear mother will approve my pride and let me speak. Herself shall bring us hand in hand to him round whom all souls kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads bowed with their orioles, and angels meeting us shall sing to their sitherns and sit-olds. There will I ask of Christ the Lord thus much for him and me, only to live as once on earth with love, only to be as then a while forever now together, I and he. She gazed and listened and then said, less sad of speech than mild. All this is when he comes. She ceased, the light thrilled toward her, filled with angels in strong-level flight. Her eyes prayed and she smiled. I saw her smile, but soon their path was vague and distant spheres, and then she cast her arms along the golden barriers and laid her face between her hands and wept. I heard her tears. End of The Blessed Amazel by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 21 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. At home by Christina Rossetti. When I was dead, my spirit turned to seek the much-frequented house. I passed the door and saw my friends feasting beneath green orange boughs. From hand to hand they pushed the wine. They sucked the pulp of plum and peach. They sang, they gested, and they laughed, for each was loved of each. I listened to their honest chat. Said one, tomorrow we shall be plod-plod along the featureless sands and coasting miles and miles of sea. Said one, before the ton of tide, we will achieve the airy seat. Said one, tomorrow shall be like today, but much more sweet. Tomorrow, said they, strong with hope, and dwelt upon the pleasant way. Tomorrow cried they, one and all, while no one spoke of yesterday. Their life stood full at blessed noon. I, only I, had passed away. Tomorrow and today they cried. I was of yesterday. I shivered comfortless, but cast no chill across the tablecloth. I, all forgotten, shivered, sad to stay, and yet to part howloth. I passed from the familiar room. I, who from love had passed away, like the remembrance of a guest that tarryeth but a day. End of At Home by Christina Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 22 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. A Day of Love by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Those envied places which do know her well and are so scornful of this lonely place, even now for once are emptied of her grace. Nowhere but here she is, and while love's spell from his predominant presence doth compel all alien hours and outworn populace, the hours of love fill full the echoing space with sweet confederate music favorable. Now many memories make solicitous the delicate love lines of her mouth, till, lit with quivering fire, the words take wing from it. As here between our kisses we sit thus speaking of things remembered and so sit speechless while things forgotten call to us. End of A Day of Love by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio. Section 23 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson. Last night by Christina Rossetti. Where were you last night? I watched at the gate. I went down early. I stayed down late. Were you snug at home, I should like to know? Or were you in the coppice wheeling Kate? She's a fine girl with a fine clear skin, easy to woo, perhaps not hard to win. Speak up like a man and tell me the truth. I'm not one to grow downhearted and thin. If you love her best, speak up like a man. It's not I will stand in the light of your plan. Some girls might cry and scold you a bit and say they couldn't bear it. But I can. Love was pleasant enough and the days went fast, pleasant while it lasted, but it didn't last. A while on the wax and a while on the wane now dropped away into the past. Was it pleasant to you? To me it was. Now clean gone as an image from glass, as a goodly rainbow that fades away, as dew that steams upward from the grass, as the first spring day or the last summer day, as the sunset flush that leaves heaven gray, as the flame burnt out for lack of oil, which no pains relight or ever may. Good luck to Kate and good luck to you. I guess you'll be kind when you come to woo. I wish her a pretty face that will last. I wish her a husband, steady and true. Hate you? Not I, my very good friend. Things begin and all have an end. But let broken be broken. I put no faith in quacks who set up to patch and mend. Just my love and one word to Kate. Not to let time slip if she means to mate. For even such a thing has been known as to miss the chance while we weigh and wait. End of Last Night by Christina Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 24 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson Insomnia by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Thin are the night skirts left behind by daybreak hours that onward creep and thin alas the shred of sleep that wavers with the spirit's wind. But in half dreams that shift and roll and still remember and forget my soul this hour has drawn your soul a little nearer yet. Our lives, most dear, are never near. Our thoughts are never far apart. Though all that draws us heart to heart seems fainter now and now more clear. Tonight love claims his full control and with desire and with regret my soul this hour has drawn your soul a little nearer yet. Is there a home where heavy earth melts to bright air that breathes no pain, where water leaves no thirst again and springing fire is love's new birth? If faith long bound to one true goal may there at length its hope beget. My soul that hour shall draw your soul forever nearer yet. End of Insomnia by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 25 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Leonard Wilson In the Round Tower at Johnsey, June 8th, 1857 by Christina Rossetti A hundred, a thousand to one, even so not a hope in the world remained the swarming howling wretches below gained and gained and gained Skane looked at his pale young wife Is the time come? The time is come Young, strong and so full of life The agony struck them dumb Close his arm about her now Close her cheek to his Close the pistol to her brow God forgive them this Will it hurt much? No, my known, I wish I could bear the pang for both I wish I could bear the pang alone Courage, dear, I am not loath Kiss and kiss It is not pain dust to kiss and die One kiss more And yet one again Goodbye Goodbye End of In the Round Tower at Johnsey by Christina Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 26 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Mary's Girlhood for a Picture by Dante Gabriel Rossetti This is that Blessed Mary pre-elect God's Virgin Gone is a great while and she dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee Unto God's will she brought devout respect, profound simplicity of intellect and supreme patience from her mother's knee faithful and hopeful wise in charity, strong in grave peace in pity, circumspect So held she through her girlhood as it were an angel watered lily that near God grows and is quiet till one dawn at home she woke in her white bed and had no fear at all yet wept till sunshine and felt awed because the fullness of the time was come End of Mary's Girlhood by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 27 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Somewhere or other by Christina Rossetti Somewhere or other there must surely be the face not seen, the voice not heard the heart that not yet, never yet, ah, me made answer to my word Somewhere or other may be near or far past land and sea clean out of sight beyond the wandering moon beyond the star that tracks her night by night Somewhere or other may be far or near with just a wall, a hedge between with just the last leaves of the dying year fallen on a turf grown green End of Somewhere or Other by Christina Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 28 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson The Ballad of Dead Ladies by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora, the lovely Roman Where's Hipparchia and where is this neither of them the fairer woman Where is Echo, beheld of no man only heard on river and mare she whose beauty was more than human But where are the snows of yesteryear Where's Eloise, the learned nun for whose sick Abelard Iween lost manhood and put priesthood on From love he won such duel and teen And where I pray you is the queen who will that Bourdon should steer sewed in a sack smouth down the Seine But where are the snows of yesteryear White queen blanch like a queen of lilies with a voice like any mermaiden birth the broadfoot Beatrice Alice and airman guard the lady of Maine and that good Joan whom Englishmen at Rouen doomed and burned her there Mother of God where are they then but where are the snows of yesteryear Nay never ask this weak fair lord where they are gone nor yet this year except with this for an overword But where are the snows of yesteryear End of The Ballad of Dead Ladies by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 29 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Helen Gray by Christina Rossetti Because one loves you Helen Gray is that a reason you should pout and like a march wind veer about and frown and say your shrewish say? Don't strain the cord until it snaps Don't split the sound heart with your wedge Don't cut your fingers with the edge of your keen wit You may, perhaps Because your handsome Helen Gray is that a reason to be proud Your eyes are bold, your laugh is loud Your steps go mincing on their way But so you miss that modest charm which is the surest charm of all Take heed, you yet may trip and fall and no man care to stretch his arm Stoop from your cold height Helen Gray Come down and take a lowlier place Come down to fill it now with grace Come down you must perforce some day For years cannot be kept at bay and fading years will make you old Then in their turn will men seem cold when you yourself are nipped and gray End of Helen Gray by Christina Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 30 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Lost Days by Dante Gabriel Rossetti The lost days of my life until today What were they could I see them on the street lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat sown once for food but trodden into clay? Or golden coins squandered and still to pay? Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet? Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat the throats of men and hell who thirst all way? I do not see them here But after death God knows I know the faces I shall see Each one a murdered self with low last breath I am thyself, what hast thou done to me? And I, and I thyself, lo each one saith And thou thyself to all eternity End of Lost Days by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 31 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson And end by Christina Rossetti Love strong as death is dead Come let us make his bed among the dying flowers A green turf at his head And a stone at his feet Whereon we may sit in the quiet evening hours He was born in the spring And died before the harvesting On the last warm summer day he left us He would not stay for autumn twilight Cold and gray Sit we by his grave And sing he has gone away To few chords and sad and low sing we so Be our eyes fixed on the grass Shadow veiled as the years pass While we think of all that was in the long ago End of An End by Christina Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 32 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Sister Helen by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Why did you melt your wax and man, Sister Helen? Today is the third since you began The time was long, yet the time ran, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, three days today Between hell and heaven But if you have done your work a right, Sister Helen You'll let me play, for you said I might Be very still in your play tonight, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, third night tonight Between hell and heaven You said it must melt air-vesper-bell, Sister Helen If now it be molten, all is well Even so, nay, peace, you cannot tell, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, oh what is this Between hell and heaven O the wax and nave was plump today, Sister Helen How like dead folk he has dropped away Nay now of the dead, what can you say, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, what of the dead Between hell and heaven See, see, the sunken pile of wood, Sister Helen Shines through the thinned wax red as blood Nay now when looked you yet on blood, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, how pale she is Between hell and heaven Now close your eyes for there's sick and sore, Sister Helen And I'll play without the gallery door Aye, let me rest, I'll lie on the floor, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, what rest tonight Between hell and heaven Here high up in the balcony, Sister Helen The moon flies face to face with me Aye, look and say whatever you see, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, what sight tonight Between hell and heaven Outside it's Mary in the windswake, Sister Helen In the shaken trees that chill stars shake Hush, heard you all hoarse tread as you spake, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, what sound tonight Between hell and heaven I hear a hoarse tread and I see Sister Helen Three horsemen that ride terribly Little Brother, whence come the three, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, whence shall they come Between hell and heaven They come by the hill-wards from Boynbar, Sister Helen And one draws nigh, but two are afar Look, look, do you know them, who they are, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, who should they be Between hell and heaven O, it's Keith of Yisthome rides so fast, Sister Helen For I know the white mane on the blast The hour has come, has come at last, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, her hour at last Between hell and heaven He has made a sign and called halloe, Sister Helen And he says that he would speak with you O, tell him that I fear the frozen dew, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, why laugh she thus Between hell and heaven The wind is loud, but I hear him cry, Sister Helen That Keith of Eurance like to die And he and thou, and thou and I, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, and they and we Between hell and heaven Three days ago on his marriage, Morn, Sister Helen He sickened and lies since then forlorn For bridegroom's side is the bride-a-thorn, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, cold bridal cheer Between hell and heaven Three days and nights he has lain a bed, Sister Helen And he prays in torment to be dead The thing may chance if he have prayed, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, if he have prayed Between hell and heaven But he has not ceased to cry today, Sister Helen That you should take your curse away My prayer was heard, he need but pray, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, shall God not hear Between hell and heaven But he says till you take back your ban, Sister Helen His soul would pass, yet never can Nay, then shall I slay a living man, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, a living soul Between hell and heaven But he calls forever on your name, Sister Helen And he says that he melts before a flame My heart for his pleasure fared the same, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, fire at the heart Between hell and heaven Here's Keith of West Home riding fast, Sister Helen For I know the white plume on the blast The hour the sweet hour I forecast, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, is the hour's sweet Between hell and heaven He stops to speak and he stills his horse, Sister Helen But his words are drowned in the wind's course Nay here, nay here, you must hear, Perforce, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, what word now heard Between hell and heaven O he says that Keith of Eurins cry, Sister Helen Is ever to see you ere he die In all that his soul sees there am I, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, the soul's one sight Between hell and heaven He sends a ring and a broken coin, Sister Helen And bids you mind the banks of Boine What else he broke will he ever join, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, no, never joined Between hell and heaven He yields you these and craves full fame, Sister Helen You pardon him in his mortal pain What else he took will he give again, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, not twice to give Between hell and heaven He calls your name in an agony, Sister Helen That even dead love must weep to see Hate, born of love, is blind as he, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, love turned to hate Between hell and heaven O it's Keith of Keith now that rides fast, Sister Helen For I know the white hair in the blast The short, short hour will soon be passed, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, will soon be passed Between hell and heaven He looks at me and he tries to speak, Sister Helen But, oh, his voice is sad and weak What here should the mighty Baron seek, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, is this the end Between hell and heaven Oh, his son still cries, if you forgive, Sister Helen The body dies, but the soul shall live Fire shall forgive me as I forgive, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, as she forgives Between hell and heaven O he prays you as his heart would rive, Sister Helen To save his dear son's soul alive Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, alas, alas Between hell and heaven He cries to you kneeling in the road, Sister Helen To go with him for the love of God The way is long to his son's abode, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, the way is long Between hell and heaven A lady's here by a dark steed brought, Sister Helen So darkly clad I saw her not See her now, or never see ought, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, what more to see Between hell and heaven Her hood falls back, and the moon shines fair, Sister Helen On the lady of Ewan's golden hair Blessed are our by-power and her despair, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, our blessed and band Between hell and heaven Pale, pale, her cheeks that in prides did glow, Sister Helen Beneath the bridal wreath three days ago One mourn for pride and three days for woe, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, three days, three nights Between hell and heaven Her clasped hands stretch from her bending head, Sister Helen With the loud winds wail, her sobs are wed What wedding strains hath her bridal bed, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, what strain but deaths Between hell and heaven She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon, Sister Helen She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon O might I but hear her soul's blithe tune, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, her woe's dumb cry Between hell and heaven They've caught her to west home saddle, O Sister Helen And her moonlit hair gleams white in its flow Let it turn whiter than winter snow, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, woe withered gold Between hell and heaven O Sister Helen, you heard the bell, Sister Helen More loud than the vesper chime it fell No vesper chime but a dying knell, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, his dying knell Between hell and heaven Alas, but I fear the heavy sound, Sister Helen Is it in the sky or in the ground Say, have they turned their horses round, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, what would she moor Between hell and heaven They have raised the old man from his knee, Sister Helen And they ride in silence hastily More fast than naked soul doth flee, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, the naked soul Between hell and heaven Flank to flank are the three steeds gone, Sister Helen But the lady's dark steed goes alone And lonely her bridegroom's soul hath flown, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, the lonely ghost Between hell and heaven O the wind is sad in the iron-chill, Sister Helen And weary sad they look by the hill But he and I are sadder still, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, most sad of all Between hell and heaven See, see, the wax has dropped from its place, Sister Helen And the flames are winning up a pace Yet here they burn but for a space, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, hear for a space Between hell and heaven Ah, what white thing at the door has crossed, Sister Helen Ah, what is this that sighs in the frost? A soul that's lost as mine is lost, Little Brother O Mother, Mary, Mother, lost, lost All lost between hell and heaven End of Sister Helen by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Swingfield, Ohio Section 33 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson, Uphill by Christina Rossetti 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 in. 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 standing at that door. Shall I find comfort, travel sore and weak? Of labor you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come. End of Uphill by Christina Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 34 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson The One Hope by Dante Gabriel Rossetti When all desire at last and all regret Go hand in hand as to death and all is vain What shall assuage the unforgotten pain And teach the unforgettable to forget? Shall peace be still a sunk stream long unmet? Or may the soul at once in a green plain Stoop through the spray of some sweet life fountain And call the dude-wrenched flowering amulet? Ah, when the one soul in that golden air Between the scriptured petals softly blown Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown Ah, let none other written spell so air But only the One Hope's one name be there Not less nor more, but even that word alone End of The One Hope by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section 35 of Selected Poems by Christina and Dante Gabriel Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Leonard Wilson Children's Poems from Sing Song by Christina Rossetti Number 9 If all were rain and never sun, no bow could span the hill If all were sun and never rain, there'd be no rainbow still Number 14 If I were a queen, what would I do? I'd make you king, and I'd wait on you If I were a king, what would I do? I'd make you queen, for I'd marry you Number 15 What are heavy, sea sand and sorrow? What are brief, today and tomorrow? What are frail, spring blossoms and youth? What are deep, the ocean and truth? Number 31 The city mouse lives in a house The garden mouse lives in a bower He's friendly with the frogs and toads And sees the pretty plants and flower The city mouse eats bread and cheese The garden mouse eats what he can We will not grudge him seeds and stalks Poor little timid furry man Fly away, fly away over the sea Sun-loving swallow, for summer is done Come again, come again, come back to me Bringing in the summer and bringing the sun 41 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 45 Boats sail on the rivers and ships sail on the seas But clouds that sail across the sky Are prettier far than these There are bridges on the rivers As pretty as you please But the bow that bridges heaven And overtops the trees And builds a road from earth to sky Is prettier far than these End of children's poems from Sing Song by Christina Rossetti Also, end of selected