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Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white.

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
White
Like
Lily
Lilies
Lifted
High
Faith

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For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.
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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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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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All earth's full rivers can not fillThe 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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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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Spring is when life's alive in everything.
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Not as she is, but as she fills his dream
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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.
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A pin has a head, but has no hair
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The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.
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Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low, As long ago, my love, how long ago
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My heart is breaking for a little love
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What is pink? A rose is pink By the fountain's brink.
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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.
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.
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Can anything be sadder than work left unfinished? Yes, work never begun.
Christina Rossetti
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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?
Christina Rossetti
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My heart is like a singing bird.
Christina Rossetti
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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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