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In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone Snow had fallen, Snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.

Christina Rossetti

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Christina Rossetti
Age: 64 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 5
Died: 1894
Died: December 29
Hymnwriter
Poet
Writer
London
England
Christina Georgina Rossetti
Christina G. Rossetti
Nature
Fallen
Midwinter
Earth
Snow
Frosty
Hard
Winter
Moan
Made
Stones
Bleak
Long
Travel
January
Like
Poetry
Stood
Wind
Iron
Water
Stone

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The rose saith in the dewy morn, I am most fair Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.
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Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you call’d them sweet?
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Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.
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A pin has a head, but has no hair
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To me it seems our duty towards the Bible is to obey its teaching in faith. I do not think we are bound to understand or account for all its utterances.
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And may you happy live, And long us bless.
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O Lord, who art our guide even unto death, grant us, I pray Thee, grace to follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest. In little daily duties to which Thou callest us, bow down our wills to simple obedience.
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I have no wit, no words, no tears My heart within me like a stone Is numb'd too much for hopes or fears Look right, look left, I dwell alone I lift mine eyes, but dimm'd with grief No everlasting hills I see My life is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me.
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Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love Divine Love was born at Christmas Star and angels gave the sign.
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Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low, As long ago, my love, how long ago
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Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they Like them we fade away As doth a leaf.
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Love shall be our token love be yours and love be mine.
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For I am bound with fleshly bands, Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, And catch at hope.
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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 thick-set fruit.
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When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me
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Why one day in the country Is worth a month in town Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion That days drone elsewhere.
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What is the beginning? Love. What is the course. Love still. What the goal. The goal is love.
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She cried, Laura, up the garden, Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind 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.
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Come to me in the silence of the night, Come to me in the speaking silence of a dream. Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright as sunlight on a stream. Come back in tears, O memory, hope, love of finished years.
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