Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
In Memoriam Christina Rossetti
This poet is a wounded nightingale.
She sings the same old song repeatedly:
Of lamentation for this transient vale
Of tears—her only song, an elegy.
Love in the greenwood is a memory,
A sickly longing for the lost and gone
Paradise of youth. Joy will never be
Again, for her, this lady all forlorn.
Longing for heaven, for eternal sleep
On the breast of the Beloved, that’s all
She sings for. Her days are an endless weep,
A threnody for Adam, Eve, the Fall.
Day follows day, and so life’s eerie dream
Is for this lady one long silent scream.