Christina Rossetti

Christina Rossetti «A Prodigal Son»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

A Prodigal Son DOES that lamp still burn in my Father’s house, Which he kindled the night I went away? I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, And marked it gleam with a golden ray; Did he think to light me home some day? Hungry here with the crunching swine, Hungry harvest have I to reap; In a dream I count my Father’s kine, I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep I watch his lambs that browse and leap. There is plenty of bread at home, His servants have bread enough and to spare; The purple wine-fat froths with … Читать далее →

Christina Rossetti «After Death»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

After Death The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept And could not hear him; but I heard him say, ‘Poor child, poor child’: and as he turned away Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: He did not … Читать далее →

Christina Rossetti «Soeur Louise De La Misericorde»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

Soeur Louise De La Misericorde (1674.) I have desired, and I have been desired; But now the days are over of desire, Now dust and dying embers mock my fire; Where is the hire for which my life was hired? Oh vanity of vanities, desire! Longing and love, pangs of a perished pleasure, Longing and love, a disenkindled fire, And memory a bottomless gulf of mire, And love a fount of tears outrunning measure; Oh vanity of vanities, desire! Now from my heart, love’s deathbed, trickles, trickles, Drop by drop slowly, drop by drop of fire, The dross of life, … Читать далее →

Christina Rossetti «When I am dead, my dearest…»

Tania-Soleil Journal Опубликовано автором

* * * When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. Christina Rossetti (1830–1894) * * * Когда умру, любимый, То … Читать далее →