Quote

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.

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
Winter
Frost
Spring
April
Flower
Showers
Sunless
Whose
Brief
Peck
Trust
Rainbow
Thro
Hours
March
Expansive
May
Flowers
Crowned
Even
Dust
Wither

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Rest, rest at the heart's core . . . till joy shall overtake.
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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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My heart is like a singing bird.
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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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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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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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The rose saith in the dewy morn, I am most fair Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.
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Where innocent bright-eyes daisies are With blades of grass between, Each daisy stands up like a star Out of a sky of green.
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And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.
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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.
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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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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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Let bygones be bygones.
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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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Spring bursts today, For love is risen and all the earth's at play.
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Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white.
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The lilies say: Behold how we Preach without words of purity.
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Not as she is, but as she fills his dream
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