“A Robin said: The Spring will never come, And I shall never care to build again. A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome, My sap will never stir for sun or rain. The half Moon said: These nights are fogged… — 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
“I have no heart? Perhaps I have not; / But then you're mad to take offense / That I don't give you what I… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
“In an Artist’s Studio One face looks out from all his canvases, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans: We found her hidden… — Christina Rossetti Copy Share Image
