Quote

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.

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
Bird
Nest
Singing
Nests
Whose
Apple
Tree
Bent
Water
Apples
Heart
Thick
Like
Shoot
Pomegranates
Fruit
Boughs

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For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.
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Tread softly! All the earth is holy ground.
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To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome.
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As a tree my sin stands To darken all lands Death is the fruit it bore.
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The lilies say: Behold how we Preach without words of purity.
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Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust March with its peck of dust, Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, Nor even May, whose flowers One frost may wither thro' the sunless hours.
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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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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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The rose saith in the dewy morn, I am most fair Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.
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My heart is breaking for a little love
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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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I wish I could remember the first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me If bright or dim the season it might be Summer or winter for aught I can say. So, unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was i to see and to forsee, So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom, yet, for many a May.
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What is pink? A rose is pink By the fountain's brink.
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Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.
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And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.
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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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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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Christmas hath a beauty ... lovelier than the world can show.
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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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Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.
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