Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LIGHT LOVE, by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LIGHT LOVE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Oh sad thy lot before I came
Last Line: But hard, to heaven: 'dost thou forget?'
Alternate Author Name(s): Alleyne, Ellen; Rossetti, Christina


'OH sad thy lot before I came,
But sadder when I go, --
My presence but a flash of flame,
A transitory glow
Between two barren wastes like snow.
What wilt thou do when I am gone?
Where wilt thou rest, my dear?
For cold thy bed to rest upon,
And cold the falling year
Whose withered leaves are lost and sere.'

She hushed the baby at her breast:
She rocked it on her knee:
'And I will rest my lonely rest,
Warmed with the thought of thee,
Rest lulled to rest by memory.'
She hushed the baby with her kiss,
She hushed it with her breast:
'Is death so sadder much than this?
Sure death that builds a nest
For those who elsewhere cannot rest.'

'Oh sad thy note, my mateless dove,
With tender nestling cold:
But hast thou ne'er another love
Left from the days of old
To build thy nest of silk and gold?
To warm thy paleness to a blush
When I am far away, --
To warm thy coldness to a flush
And turn thee back to May,
And turn thy twilight back to day.'

She did not answer him a word,
But leaned her face aside,
Sick with the pain of hope deferred
And sore with wounded pride:
He knew his very soul had lied.
She strained his baby in her arms,
His baby to her heart:
'Even let it go, the love that harms;
We two will never part:
Mine own, his own, how dear thou art!'

'Now never tease me, tender-eyed,
Sigh-voiced,' he said in scorn:
'For nigh at hand there blooms a bride,
My bride before the morn:
Ripe-blooming she, as thou forlorn.
Ripe-blooming she, my rose, my peach:
She wooes me day and night:
I watch her tremble in my reach:
She reddens, my delight,
She ripens, reddens, in my sight.'

'And is she like a sunlit rose?
Am I like withered leaves?
Haste where thy spiced garden blows:
But in bare autumn eves
Wilt thou have store of harvest-sheaves?
Thou leavest love, true love behind,
To seek a love as true:
Go seek in haste, -- but wilt thou find?
Change new again for new,
Pluck up, enjoy, yea trample too.

'Alas for her, poor faded rose,
Alas for her like me,
Cast down and trampled in the snows.' --
'Like thee? nay not like thee:
She leans, but from a guarded tree.
Farewell, and dream as long ago
Before we ever met:
Farewell: my swift-paced horse seems slow.' --
She raised her eyes, not wet
But hard, to Heaven: 'Dost Thou forget?'





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