Poems E-Book

Christina Georgina Rossetti

• Herausgeber: Christina Georgina Rossetti
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

"Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,
A silly sheep benighted from the fold,
A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.
Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot,
Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold;
Lest you with me should shiver on the wold,
Athirst and hungering on a barren spot."

Leseprobe

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Poems

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Table of contents

GOBLIN MARKET.

THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS.

DEVOTIONAL PIECES.

A PAGEANT AND OTHER POEMS.

GOBLIN MARKET.

Morning and eveningMaids heard the goblins cry:"Come buy our orchard fruits,Come buy, come buy:Apples and quinces,Lemons and oranges,Plump unpecked cherries,Melons and raspberries,Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,Swart-headed mulberries,Wild free-born cranberries,Crab-apples, dewberries,Pine-apples, blackberries,Apricots, strawberries;--All ripe togetherIn summer weather,--Morns that pass by,Fair eves that fly;Come buy, come buy:Our grapes fresh from the vine,Pomegranates full and fine,Dates and sharp bullaces,Rare pears and greengages,Damsons and bilberries,Taste them and try:Currants and gooseberries,Bright-fire-like barberries,Figs to fill your mouth,Citrons from the South,Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;Come buy, come buy."Evening by eveningAmong the brookside rushes,Laura bowed her head to hear,Lizzie veiled her blushes:Crouching close togetherIn the cooling weather,With clasping arms and cautioning lips,With tingling cheeks and finger-tips."Lie close," Laura said,Pricking up her golden head:"We must not look at goblin men,We must not buy their fruits:Who knows upon what soil they fedTheir hungry thirsty roots?""Come buy," call the goblinsHobbling down the glen."O," cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura,You should not peep at goblin men."Lizzie covered up her eyes,Covered close lest they should look;Laura reared her glossy head,And whispered like the restless brook:"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,Down the glen tramp little men.One hauls a basket,One bears a plate,One lugs a golden dishOf many pounds' weight.How fair the vine must growWhose grapes are so luscious;How warm the wind must blowThrough those fruit bushes.""No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;Their offers should not charm us,Their evil gifts would harm us."She thrust a dimpled fingerIn each ear, shut eyes and ran:Curious Laura chose to lingerWondering at each merchant man.One had a cat's face,One whisked a tail,One tramped at a rat's pace,One crawled like a snail,One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry.She heard a voice like voice of dovesCooing all together:They sounded kind and full of lovesIn the pleasant weather.Laura stretched her gleaming neckLike a rush-imbedded swan,Like a lily from the beck,Like a moonlit poplar branch,Like a vessel at the launchWhen its last restraint is gone.Backwards up the mossy glenTurned and trooped the goblin men,With their shrill repeated cry,"Come buy, come buy."When they reached where Laura wasThey stood stock still upon the moss,Leering at each other,Brother with queer brother;Signalling each other,Brother with sly brother.One set his basket down,One reared his plate;One began to weave a crownOf tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown(Men sell not such in any town);One heaved the golden weightOf dish and fruit to offer her:"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.Laura stared but did not stir,Longed but had no money:The whisk-tailed merchant bade her tasteIn tones as smooth as honey,The cat-faced purr'd,The rat-paced spoke a wordOf welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;One parrot-voiced and jollyCried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly";--One whistled like a bird.But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:"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 furzeThat shakes in windy weatherAbove 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 moreFruits 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 dayAs she turned home alone.