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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.

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
Dying
Cypresses
Forget
Shady
Death
Wilt
Remember
Wet
Showers
Grass
Thou
Green
Dewdrops

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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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Spring is when life's alive in everything.
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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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And may you happy live, And long us bless.
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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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My heart is breaking for a little love
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Spring bursts today, For love is risen and all the earth's at play.
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I watched a rose-bud 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.
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Open wide the windows of our spirits and fill us full of light open wide the door of our hearts, that we may receive and entertain Thee with all our powers of adoration.
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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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Love shall be our token love be yours and love be mine.
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Let bygones be bygones.
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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.
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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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Oh that it were with me As with the flower Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns: That I might bloom mine hour A rose in spite of thorns. Oh that my work were done As birds' that soar Rejoicing in the sun: That when my time is run And daylight too, I so might rest once more Cool with refreshing dew.
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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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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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Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago. (The Key-Note)
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Can anything be sadder than work left unfinished? Yes, work never begun.
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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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