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Rest, rest at the heart's core . . . till joy shall overtake.

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
Overtake
Till
Core
Rest
Joy
Shall
Heart

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Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white.
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Christmas hath a beauty ... lovelier than the world can show.
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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 darkness Brighter than the blazing noon Christmas hath a chillness Warmer than the heat of June, Christmas hath a beauty Lovelier than the world can show: For Christmas bringeth Jesus, Brought for us so low
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Let bygones be bygones.
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Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
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The downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back.
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I might show facts as plain as day: but, since your eyes are blind, you'd say, 'Where? What?' and turn away.
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Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.
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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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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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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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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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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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For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.
Christina Rossetti
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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.
Christina Rossetti
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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)
Christina Rossetti
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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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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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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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