Quote

Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time.

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
Time
Roses
Branch
Branches
Prime
Laurel
Grown
Flush
Rose
Ivy
Youth
Laurels
Perfect
Pluck

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We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?
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Not as she is, but as she fills his dream
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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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Let bygones be bygones.
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The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.
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Can anything be sadder than work left unfinished? Yes, work never begun.
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Why does the sea moan evermore? Shut out from heaven it makes its moan, It frets against the boundary shore All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.
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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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The Bourne Underneath the growing grass, Underneath the living flowers, Deeper than the sound of showers: There we shall not count the hours By the shadows as they pass. Youth and health will be but vain, Beauty reckoned of no worth: There a very little girth Can hold round what once the earth Seemed too narrow to contain.
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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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Be the green grass above me, with showers and dewdrops wet and if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget.
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What is pink? A rose is pink By the fountain's brink.
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When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me
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Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white.
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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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And may you happy live, And long us bless.
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For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.
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