Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WHAT SAPPHO WOULD HAVE SAID .. LEAP CURED INSTEAD OF KILLING, by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WHAT SAPPHO WOULD HAVE SAID .. LEAP CURED INSTEAD OF KILLING, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Love, love, that having found a heart
Last Line: Fill me and make me wholly thine.
Alternate Author Name(s): Alleyne, Ellen; Rossetti, Christina
Subject(s): Flowers; Hate; Hearts; Love; Time


Love, Love, that having found a heart
And left it, leav'st it desolate; --
Love, Love, that art more strong than Hate,
More lasting and more full of art; --
O blessed Love, return, return,
Brighten the flame that needs must burn.

Among the stately lilies pale,
Among the roses flushing red,
I seek a flower meet for my head,
A wreath wherewith to bind my veil:
I seek in vain; a shadow-pain
Lies on my heart; and all in vain.

The rose hath too much life in it;
The lily is too much at rest.
Surely a blighted rose were best,
Or cankered lily flower more fit;
Or purple violet, withering
While yet the year is in its spring.

I walk down by the river side
Where the low willows touch the stream;
Beneath the ripple and sun-gleam
The slippery cold fishes glide,
Where flags and reeds and rushes lave
Their roots in the unsullied wave.

Methinks this is a drowsy place:
Disturb me not; I fain would sleep:
The very winds and waters keep
Their voices under; and the race
Of Time seems to stand still, for here
Is night or twilight all the year.

A very holy hushedness
Broods here for ever: like a dove
That, having built its nest above
A quiet place, feels the excess
Of calm sufficient, and would fain
Not wake, but drowse on without pain.

And slumbering on its mossy nest
Haply hath dreams of pleasant Spring;
And in its vision prunes its wing
And takes swift flight, yet is at rest.
Yea, is at rest: and still the calm
Is wrapped around it like a charm.

I would have quiet too in truth,
And here will sojourn for a while.
Lo; I have wandered many a mile,
Till I am foot-sore in my youth.
I will lie down; and quite forget
The doubts and fears that haunt me yet.

My pillow underneath my head
Shall be green grass; thick fragrant leaves
My canopy; the spider weaves
Meet curtains for my narrow bed;
And the dew can but cool my brow
That is so dry and burning now.

Ah, would that it could reach my heart,
And fill the void that is so dry
And aches and aches; -- but what am I
To shrink from my self-purchased part?
It is in vain; is all in vain;
I must go forth and bear my pain.

Must bear my pain, till Love shall turn
To me in pity and come back.
His footsteps left a smouldering track
When he went forth, that still doth burn.
Oh come again, thou pain divine,
Fill me and make me wholly thine.





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