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Let bygones be bygones.

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
Bygones
Forgiveness

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Love shall be our token love be yours and love be mine.
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Tread softly! All the earth is holy ground.
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What is pink? A rose is pink By the fountain's brink.
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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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Spring is when life's alive in everything.
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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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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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As a tree my sin stands To darken all lands Death is the fruit it bore.
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When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me
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What is green? The grass is green, With small flowers between. What is violet? Clouds are violet In the summer twilight. What is orange? Why, an orange, Just an orange!
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All earth's full rivers can not fillThe sea that drinking thirsteth still.
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Rest, rest at the heart's core . . . till joy shall overtake.
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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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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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Can anything be sadder than work left unfinished? Yes, work never begun.
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Not as she is, but as she fills his dream
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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 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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Christmas hath a beauty ... lovelier than the world can show.
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