Dante Gabriel Rossetti

RE'S a female bard, grim as a fakier,
Who daily grows shakier and shakier

IS Soul fared forth (as from the deep
The father-songster plies the hour-long quest),
To feed his soul-brood hungering in the nest;
But his warm Heart, the mother-bird,

Love hath a chamber all of imagery;
And there is one dim nook,
A little storied web wherein my
From leaf to leaf is read as in a book

In whomsoe'er, since Poesy began,
A Poet most of all men we may scan,
Burns of all poets is the most a Man

When vain desire at last and vain
Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
What shall assuage the unforgotten
And teach the unforgetful to forget

IN are the night-skirts left
By daybreak hours that onward creep,
And thin, alas
the shred of

'Twixt those twin worlds,—the world of Sleep, which
No dream to warn,—the tidal world of Death,
Which the earth's sea, as the earth, replenisheth,—Shelley,
Song's orient sun, to breast the wave,

AH yes, exactly so; but when a man Has trundled out of England into France And half through Belgium, always in this prance Of steam, and still has stuck to his first plan— Blank verse or sonnets; and as he began Would end;—why, even the blankest v...

RE is a big artist named Val,
The roughs' and the prize—fighters' pal:
The mind of a groom And the head of a broom Were Nature's endowments to Val
There is a Creator named God Whose creations are sometimes quite odd:

On the first day the priest Could find no heart in the beast,
And two on the second day

Epitaph All beauty to pourtray,
Therein his duty lay,
And still through toilsome strife Duty to him was life—Most thankful still that duty Lay in the paths of beauty
To the memory of William Blake, a Painter and

She fell asleep on Christmas Eve:
At length the long-ungranted
Of weary eyelids
The pain nought else might yet relieve