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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.

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
Hands
Catch
Heart
Bounds
Band
Fleshly
Beyond
Stretch
Joy
Scope
Beauty
Strain
Lying
Bands
Hope
Bound

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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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As a tree my sin stands To darken all lands Death is the fruit it bore.
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Rest, rest at the heart's core . . . till joy shall overtake.
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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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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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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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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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What is pink? A rose is pink By the fountain's brink.
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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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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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For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.
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It is not the deed we do Though the deed be never so fair, But the love that the dear Lord looketh for, Hidden with lovely care In the heart of the deed so fair.
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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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The rose saith in the dewy morn, I am most fair Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.
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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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When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me
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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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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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Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you call’d them sweet?
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My heart is breaking for a little love
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