When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
What is green? The grass is green, With small flowers between. What is violet? Clouds are violet In the summer twilight. What… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Be the green grass above me, with showers and dewdrops wet; and if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget. — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Where innocent bright-eyes daisies are With blades of grass between, Each daisy stands up like a star Out of a sky of… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
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… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
All earth's full rivers can not fillThe sea that drinking thirsteth still. — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seemed not so far to seek, And all the world and I seemed much less… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
“Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, Grant me. Father, a servant’s place. ” — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
“ Remember Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
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 Copy Share Image
“A Robin said: The Spring will never come, And I shall never care to build again. A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome, My… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb. If I were a Wise… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Observe this dew-drenched rose of Tyrian gardens A rose today. But you will ask in vain Tomorrow what it is; and yesterday It was… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Born in a stable, Cradled in a manger, In the world His hands have made, Born a stranger. — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death; Come back to me in dreams,… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
