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

«·“IF THOU SAYEST, BEHOLD, WE KNEW IT NOT.” –Proverbs xxiv. 11, 12. · AN OLD-WORLD THICKET.·»

THE THREAD OF LIFE.

1.

The irresponsive silence of the land,
  The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
  Speak both one message of one sense to me:—
Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand
Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band
  Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;
  But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free?
What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?—
And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,
  And sometimes I remember days of old
When fellowship seemed not so far to seek
  And all the world and I seemed much less cold,
  And at the rainbow’s foot lay surely gold,
And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.

2.

Thus am I mine own prison. Everything
  Around me free and sunny and at ease:
  Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees
Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing
And where all winds make various murmuring;
  Where bees are found, with honey for the bees;
  Where sounds are music, and where silences
Are music of an unlike fashioning.
Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew,
  And smile a moment and a moment sigh
Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you?
  But soon I put the foolish fancy by:
I am not what I have nor what I do;
  But what I was I am, I am even I.

3.

Therefore myself is that one only thing
  I hold to use or waste, to keep or give;
  My sole possession every day I live,
And still mine own despite Time’s winnowing.
Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring
  From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative;
  Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve;
And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing.
And this myself as king unto my King
  I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me;
Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing
  A sweet new song of His redeemed set free;
He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?
  And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?

 


«·“IF THOU SAYEST, BEHOLD, WE KNEW IT NOT.” –Proverbs xxiv. 11, 12. · AN OLD-WORLD THICKET.·»