Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 10

ONE CERTAINTY.

SONNET.

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 breath Of wind, or like the gra.s.s 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.

To-day is still the same as yesterday, To-morrow 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, And morning shall be cold, and twilight gray.

CHRISTIAN AND JEW.

A DIALOGUE.

"O 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, they Bend 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 cry One to other ceaselessly (I hear them sing) One 'Holy, Holy, Holy,' to their King."-- "I do not hear them, I."--

"Joy to thee, Paradise,-- Garden and goal and nest!

Made green for wearied eyes; Much softer than the breast Of mother-dove clad in a rainbow's dyes.

"All precious souls are there Most safe, elect by grace, All tears are wiped forever from their face: Untired in prayer They wait and praise, Hidden for a little s.p.a.ce.

"Boughs of the Living Vine, They spread in summer s.h.i.+ne 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 scorned 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 those Who pa.s.sed; her harpstrings cannot sound In 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, s.h.i.+ne, For thy light is come."--

"Can these bones live?"-- "G.o.d knows: The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin A wind blew on them and life entered in; They shook and rose.

Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin, Let life begin."

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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.seth by And is as though it had not been:-- All colors turn to green; The bright hues vanish and the odors fly, The gra.s.s hath lasting worth.

And youth and beauty die.

So be it, O my G.o.d, Thou G.o.d of truth: Better than beauty and than youth Are Saints and Angels, a glad company; And Thou, O Lord, our Rest and Ease, Art better far than these.

Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why Prefer to glean with Ruth?

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 hour And fell at even-song.

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 afraid Or 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 G.o.d, Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain, Should also take the rod?

"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 born Upon a thorn.

The poppy saith amid the corn: Let but my scarlet head appear And I am held in scorn; Yet juice of subtle virtue lies Within my cup of curious dyes.

The lilies say: Behold how we Preach without words of purity.

The violets whisper from the shade Which their own leaves have made: Men scent our fragrance on the air, Yet take no heed Of humble lessons we would read.

But not alone the fairest flowers: The merest gra.s.s Along the roadside where we pa.s.s, Lichen and moss and st.u.r.dy weed, Tell of His love who sends the dew, The rain and suns.h.i.+ne too, To nourish one small seed.

THE WORLD.

SONNET.

By day she wooes me, soft, exceeding fair: But all night as the moon so changeth she; Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy, And subtle serpents gliding in her hair.

By day she wooes 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 truth, With pus.h.i.+ng 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, Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on h.e.l.l?