Somber Friday

Hey, Kids… I’m not feeling terribly snarky today. So I’ll leave you with two of my most favorite poems of all time. The first is the excellent “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti and the other is “Jenny” by her brother, D.G. Rossetti.

“Good folk, I have no coin;
To take were to purloin:
I have no copper in my purse,
I have no silver either,
And all my gold is on the furze
That shakes in windy weather
Above the rusty heather.”
“You have much gold upon your head,”
They answered altogether:
“Buy from us with a golden curl.”
She clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore,
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away,
But gathered up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turned home alone.

Lazy laughing languid Jenny,
Fond of a kiss and fond of a guinea,
Whose head upon my knee to-night
Rests for a while, as if grown light
With all our dances and the sound
To which the wild tunes spun you round:
Fair Jenny mine, the thoughtless queen
Of kisses which the blush between
Could hardly make much daintier;
Whose eyes are as blue skies, whose hair
Is countless gold incomparable:
Fresh flower, scarce touched with signs that tell
Of Love’s exuberant hotbed:–Nay,
Poor flower left torn since yesterday
Until to-morrow leave you bare;
Poor handful of bright spring-water
Flung in the whirlpool’s shrieking face;
Poor shameful Jenny, full of grace
Thus with your head upon my knee;–
Whose person or whose purse may be
The lodestar of your reverie?

[… way too emo for words, dude]

3 Responses to “Somber Friday”

  1. Ann(ie)
    1

    You need some Teasdale for the emo days.

    The Years
    by Sara Teasdale

    To-night I close my eyes and see
    A strange procession passing me –
    The years before I saw your face
    Go by me with a wistful grace;
    They pass, the sensitive, shy years,
    As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.

    The years went by and never knew
    That each one brought me nearer you;
    Their path was narrow and apart
    And yet it led me to your heart –
    Oh, sensitive, shy years, oh, lonely years,
    That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears.

    or

    To E.
    by Sara Teasdale

    I have remembered beauty in the night,
    Against black silences I waked to see
    A shower of sunlight over Italy
    And green Ravello dreaming on her height;
    I have remembered music in the dark,
    The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach’s,
    And running water singing on the rocks
    When once in English woods I heard a lark.

    But all remembered beauty is no more
    Than a vague prelude to the thought of you –
    You are the rarest soul I ever knew,
    Lover of beauty, knightliest and best;
    My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore,
    And when I think of you, I am at rest.

    (swoons)

  2. Bookwormom
    2

    Love the Goblin Market. The Rossettis are two of my favorite poets.

  3. Darragha
    3

    I love Rossetti, too.

    Feeling the fall after the glory, Bam?

    It’s a normal reaction, incidently.

    Darr



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