Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti Part 34

THE LOWEST PLACE.

Give me the lowest place: not that I dare Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died That I might live and share Thy glory by Thy side.

Give me the lowest place: or if for me That lowest place too high, make one more low Where I may sit and see My G.o.d and love Thee so.

A PAGEANT AND OTHER POEMS.

Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome Has many sonnets: so here now shall be One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; Whose service is my special dignity, And she my loadstar while I go and come.

And so because you love me, and because I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: In you not fourscore years can dim the flame Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws Of time and change and mortal life and death.

THE KEY-NOTE.

Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing?

I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago; Summer has followed after Spring; Now Autumn is so shrunk and sere, I scarcely think a sadder thing Can be the Winter of my year.

Yet Robin sings through Winter's rest, When bushes put their berries on; While they their ruddy jewels don, He sings out of a ruddy breast; The hips and haws and ruddy breast Make one spot warm where snowflakes lie They break and cheer the unlovely rest Of Winter's pause--and why not I?

THE MONTHS:

A Pageant.

PERSONIFICATIONS.

_Boys._ _Girls._ January. February.

March. April.

July. May.

August. June.

October. September.

December. November.

Robin Redb.r.e.a.s.t.s; Lambs and Sheep; Nightingale and Nestlings.

Various Flowers, Fruits, etc.

_Scene_: A Cottage with its Grounds.

[A room in a large comfortable cottage; a fire burning on the hearth; a table on which the breakfast things have been left standing. January discovered seated by the fire.]

_January._

Cold the day and cold the drifted snow, Dim the day until the cold dark night.

[Stirs the fire.

Crackle, sparkle, f.a.got; embers glow: Some one may be plodding through the snow Longing for a light, For the light that you and I can show.

If no one else should come, Here Robin Redbreast's welcome to a crumb, And never troublesome: Robin, why don't you come and fetch your crumb?

Here's b.u.t.ter for my hunch of bread, And sugar for your crumb; Here's room upon the hearthrug, If you'll only come.

In your scarlet waistcoat, With your keen bright eye, Where are you loitering?

Wings were made to fly!

Make haste to breakfast, Come and fetch your crumb, For I'm as glad to see you As you are glad to come.

[Two Robin Redb.r.e.a.s.t.s are seen tapping with their beaks at the lattice, which January opens. The birds flutter in, hop about the floor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar thrown to them. They have scarcely finished their meal, when a knock is heard at the door. January hangs a guard in front of the fire, and opens to February, who appears with a bunch of snowdrops in her hand.]

_January._

Good-morrow, sister.

_February._

Brother, joy to you!

I've brought some snowdrops; only just a few, But quite enough to prove the world awake, Cheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew And for the pale sun's sake.

[She hands a few of her snowdrops to January, who retires into the background. While February stands arranging the remaining snowdrops in a gla.s.s of water on the window-sill, a soft b.u.t.ting and bleating are heard outside.

She opens the door, and sees one foremost lamb, with other sheep and lambs bleating and crowding towards her.]

_February._

O you, you little wonder, come--come in, You wonderful, you woolly soft white lamb: You panting mother ewe, come too, And lead that tottering twin Safe in: Bring all your bleating kith and kin, Except the h.o.r.n.y ram.

[February opens a second door in the background, and the little flock files through into a warm and sheltered compartment out of sight.]

The lambkin tottering in its walk With just a fleece to wear; The snowdrop drooping on its stalk So slender,-- Snowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair, Braving the cold for our delight, Both white, Both tender.

[A rattling of doors and windows; branches seen without, tossing violently to and fro.]

How the doors rattle, and the branches sway!

Here's brother March comes whirling on his way With winds that eddy and sing.

[She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and discloses March hastening up, both hands full of violets and anemones.]