I DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI (1828-1882) believe in a future life. Have I not had evidence of that often enough? Have I not heard and seen those that died long years ago? 1 1 [Mr. W. M. Rossetti writes:-"As to my brother's reported assertion, ‘I believe in a future life,' this was partially true at all periods of his career, and was entirely true in his closing years. It depended partly upon what we call 'Spiritualism,' on many of whose manifestations he relied, while ready to admit that some others have been mere juggling. I cannot say with any accuracy what he supposed immortality to consist of. . . . I cannot recollect having myself ever heard my brother allege that he had seen a spiritual appearance, or what we term a ghost” (Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1895).] The lost days of my life until to-day, What were they, could I see them on the street Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat Sown once for food but trodden into clay? Or golden coins squandered and still to pay? Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet? Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat The undying throats of Hell, athirst alway? 1 Said in November 1881 (see Autobiography of W. B. Scott). I do not see them here; but after death And thou, O Life, the lady of all bliss, With whom, when our first heart beat full and fast, Lo! Love, the child once ours; and Song, whose hair CHRISTINA ROSSETTI (1830-1894) LIFE is not sweet. One day it will be sweet To shut our eyes and die : Nor feel the wild flowers blow, nor birds dart by Nor grass grow long above our heads and feet, 1 From The House of Life, Sonnet lxxxvi. ("Lost Days"). 2 Ibid. Sonnet c. ("Newborn Death"). Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat. Life is not good. One day it will be good To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main, Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood Rich ranks of golden grain Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain : The wise do send their hearts before them to Of this familiar world, where all we do Or have is old, for there is nothing new: Yet elder far that world we have not seen; Divided, neither here nor there at rest! That hankers after Heaven, but clings to earth; Half-choosing, wholly missing, the good part:— 1 "Life and Death." 2 "Later Life," Sonnet xxiv. This Life is full of numbness and of balk, Travelling with tottering steps the first short stage : Where Death sits veiled amid creation's rust :Unveil thy face, O Death who art not Death.1 In life our absent friend is far away: But death may bring our friend exceeding near, And lead him back in reach of words we say. In any voice accustomed to our ear; He only cannot make his face appear And turn the sun back on our shadowed day. Watching us with unslumbering eyes and heart When all the overwork of life Is finished once, and fallen asleep 1 "Later Life," Sonnet xxvi. 2 Ibid. Sonnet xxviii. We shrink no more beneath the knife, Then shall we find-(please God!)—it is enough? Not in this world of hope deferred, Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, Here harvests fail, here breaks the heart; Is it worth while to live, Hope, fear and die? Man with man, truth with lie, At last what shall we have Besides a grave? Lies and shows no more, No fear, no pain, But after hope and sleep Dear joys again. Those who sowed shall reap: -Those who bore The Cross shall wear the Crown: Those who clomb the steep 1 From "Time Flies," August 17. |