Christina Rossetti Quotes - Page 3

Christmas hath a beauty ... lovelier than the world can show.

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me

Spring bursts today, For love is risen and all the earth's at play.

O Lord, who art our guide even unto death, grant us, I pray Thee, grace to follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest. In little daily duties to which Thou callest us, bow down our wills to simple obedience.

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.

Not as she is, but as she fills his dream

And all winds go sighing For sweet things dying.

Let bygones be bygones.

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

A man is ever apt to contemplate himself out of all proportion to his surroundings.

For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.

And may you happy live, And long us bless.

There is no time like Spring When life's alive in everything, Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track.

Be the green grass above me, with showers and dewdrops wet; and if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget.

I might show facts as plain as day: but, since your eyes are blind, you'd say, 'Where? What?' and turn away.

And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seemed not so far to seek, And all the world and I seemed much less cold, And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, And hope felt strong, and life itself not weak.

Born in a stable, Cradled in a manger, In the world His hands have made, Born a stranger.

The rose saith in the dewy morn, I am most fair; Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.

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.

Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

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.

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!

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.

The Bourne Underneath the growing grass, Underneath the living flowers, Deeper than the sound of showers: There we shall not count the hours By the shadows as they pass. Youth and health will be but vain, Beauty reckoned of no worth: There a very little girth Can hold round what once the earth Seemed too narrow to contain.

It's surely summer. for there's a swallow: Come one swallow, his mate will follow, The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.