Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 11

A TESTIMONY.

I said of laughter, it is vain.

Of mirth I said, what profits it?

Therefore I found a book, and writ Therein how ease and also pain, How health and sickness, every one Is 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 begin To beat on them, they cannot stand; They perish, quickly overthrown, Loose from the very bas.e.m.e.nt 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 be at rest; There all the wisdom of the wise Is vanity of vanities.

Man flourishes as a green leaf, And as a leaf doth pa.s.s away; Or, as a shade that cannot stay And leaves no track, his course is brief: Yet man doth hope and fear and plan Till he is dead:--O foolish man!

Our eyes cannot be satisfied With seeing, nor our ears be filled With hearing: yet we plant and build And 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 labor is not good; our best Hopes fade; our heart is stayed on lies: Verily, we sow wind; and we Shall reap the whirlwind, verily.

He who hath little shall not lack; He who hath plenty shall decay: Our fathers went; we pa.s.s away; Our children follow on our track: So generations fail, and so They 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 increase And her sheaves are not numbered; Therefore her plants are green, and all Her pleasant trees l.u.s.ty 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, And pleasures till he tired of them; Then, having tested all things, he Witnessed that all are vanity.

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.

O, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 take A 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 bird Whose song is tired at last For no mate heard.

The loving voice is silent, The useless word; One by one flitting, Sick with hope deferred.

Driving and driving, The s.h.i.+p 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.

No voice to call the sleepers, No hand to raise: They sleep to death in dreaming Of length of days.

Vanity of vanities, The Preacher says: Vanity is the end Of all their ways.

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 gla.s.s Glittering and frail with many a fretted spire, But when the summer sunset came to pa.s.s 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.

Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves 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 p.r.i.c.kly back for fear.