Sedition·com (mature content)
Poems by Christina G. Rossetti

«·AUTUMN. · MEMORY.·»

THE GHOST’S PETITION.

“There’s a footstep coming: look out and see.”—
  “The leaves are falling, the wind is calling;
No one cometh across the lea.”—

“There’s a footstep coming: O sister, look.”—
  “The ripple flashes, the white foam dashes;
No one cometh across the brook.”—

“But he promised that he would come:
  To-night, to-morrow, in joy or sorrow,
He must keep his word, and must come home.

”For he promised that he would come:
  His word was given; from earth or heaven,
He must keep his word, and must come home.

“Go to sleep, my sweet sister Jane;
  You can slumber, who need not number
Hour after hour, in doubt and pain.

“I shall sit here awhile, and watch;
  Listening, hoping, for one hand groping
In deep shadow to find the latch.”

After the dark, and before the light,
  One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping,
Who had watched and wept the weary night.

After the night, and before the day,
  One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping,—
Watching, weeping for one away.

There came a footstep climbing the stair;
  Some one standing out on the landing
Shook the door like a puff of air,—

Shook the door, and in he passed.
  Did he enter? In the room centre
Stood her husband: the door shut fast.

“O Robin, but you are cold,—
  Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you
Look like a stray lamb from our fold.

“O Robin, but you are late:
  Come and sit near me,–sit here and cheer me.”—
(Blue the flame burnt in the grate.)

“Lay not down your head on my breast:
  I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you
In the shelter that you love best.

“Feel not after my clasping hand:
  I am but a shadow, come from the meadow
Where many lie, but no tree can stand.

“We are trees which have shed their leaves:
  Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there;
Only I grieve for my wife who grieves.

“I could rest if you would not moan
  Hour after hour; I have no power
To shut my ears where I lie alone.

“I could rest if you would not cry;
  But there’s no sleeping while you sit weeping,—
Watching, weeping so bitterly.”—

“Woe’s me! woe’s me! for this I have heard.
  O, night of sorrow!–O, black to-morrow!
Is it thus that you keep your word?

“O you who used so to shelter me
  Warm from the least wind,–why, now the east wind
Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see.

”O my husband of flesh and blood,
  For whom my mother I left, and brother,
And all I had, accounting it good,

“What do you do there, underground,
  In the dark hollow? I’m fain to follow.
What do you do there?–what have you found?”—

“What I do there I must not tell;
  But I have plenty. Kind wife, content ye:
It is well with us,–it is well.

“Tender hand hath made our nest;
  Our fear is ended, our hope is blended
With present pleasure, and we have rest.”—

“O, but Robin, I’m fain to come,
  If your present days are so pleasant;
For my days are so wearisome.

“Yet I’ll dry my tears for your sake:
  Why should I tease you, who cannot please you
Any more with the pains I take?”


 


«·AUTUMN. · MEMORY.·»