Christina Rossetti quote

"Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush. Full of fresh scents Are the budding boughs Arching high over A cool green house: Full of sweet scents, And whispering air Which sayeth softly: We spread no snare; Here dwell in safety, Here dwell alone, With a clear stream And a mossy stone. Here the sun shineth Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, Though far off it be."

Christina Rossetti

Born: December 5, 1830

Die: December 29, 1894

Occupation: Poet

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Trust me, I have not earned your dear rebuke, I love, as you would have me, God the most; Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost, Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look Unready to forego...

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Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love Divine; Love was born at Christmas; Star and angels gave the sign.

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Oh that it were with me As with the flower; Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns: That I might bloom mine hour A rose in spite of thorns. Oh that my work were done As...

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

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Not as she is, but as she fills his dream

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

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Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time.

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Tread softly! All the earth is holy ground.

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In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, Snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.

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Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of...

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What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb. If I were a Wise Man I would do my part. Yet what can I give Him? I give Him my heart.

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

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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...

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Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.

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Were there no God, we would be in this glorious world with grateful hearts, and no one to thank.

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Hope dead lives nevermore, No, not in heaven.

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This life is but the passage of a day, This life is but a pang and all is over; But in the life to come which fades not away Every love shall abide and every lover.

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We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?

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And may you happy live, And long us bless.

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My heart is breaking for a little love

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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...

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I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?

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Better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad.

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

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For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands.

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Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine.

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Christina Rossetti

And all the winds go sighing, for sweet things dying.

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Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.

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My heart is like a singing bird.

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She gave up beauty in her tender youth, gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways; she covered up her eyes lest they should gaze on vanity, and chose the bitter truth.

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Obedience is the fruit of faith; patience is the early blossom on the tree of faith.

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January cold and desolate; February dripping wet; March wind ranges; April changes; Birds sing in tune To flowers of May, And sunny June Brings longest day; In scorched July The storm-clouds fly, Lightning-torn; August...

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

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Obedience is the fruit of faith.

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Spring is when life's alive in everything.

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Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush. Full of fresh...

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I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun And crocus fires are kindling one by one: Sing robin, sing: I still am sore in...

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

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

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Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death; Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low, As long ago, my love,...

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Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart; My silent heart, lie still and break: Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed For a dream's sake.

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Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth.

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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; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea;...

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Choose love not in the shallows but in the deep.

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For one man is my world of all the men this wide world holds; O love, my world is you.

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What is the beginning? Love. What is the course. Love still. What the goal. The goal is love.

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Can anything be sadder than work left unfinished? Yes, work never begun.

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Fair as the moon and joyful as the light; Tot wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dreams.

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Silence is more musical than any song.

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O passing angel, speed me with a song, a melody of heaven to reach my heart and rouse me to the race and make me strong.

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O Lord, I cannot plead my love of Thee: I plead Thy love of me: - the shallow conduit hails the unfathomed sea.

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Hope is like a hairball trembling from its birth...

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The downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back....

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What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow. What are brief? today and tomorrow. What are frail? spring blossoms and youth. What are deep? the ocean and truth.

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To me it seems our duty towards the Bible is to obey its teaching in faith. I do not think we are bound to understand or account for all its utterances.

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I believe because I am told to believe ... My faith is faith; it is not evolved out of argumentation, nor does it seek the aid of that.

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Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you call’d them sweet?

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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...

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I wish I could remember the first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me; If bright or dim the season it might be; Summer or winter for aught I can say. So, unrecorded did it slip away, So...

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One day in the country Is worth a month in town

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Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago. ("The Key-Note")

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Remember me when I am gone away, gone far away into the silent land.

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Flowers preach to us if we will hear.

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All things that pass Are wisdom's looking-glass.

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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,...

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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 the dust, the sunshine, and the rains.

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

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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.

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“Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.”

― Dr. Seuss