Christina Rossetti: Poems


(The Argosy, March 1866.)

If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day,

O, what a day to-day would be!

But now he's away, miles and miles away

From me across the sea.

O little bird, flying, flying, flying

To your nest in the warm west,

Tell him as you pass that I am dying,

As you pass home to your nest.

I have a sister, I have a brother,

A faithful hound, a tame white dove; 10

But I had another, once I had another,

And I miss him, my love, my love!

In this weary world it is so cold, so cold,

While I sit here all alone;

I would not like to wait and to grow old,

But just to be dead and gone.

Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed,

Fair where I am lying:

Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead--

He for whom I am dying. 20

Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it,

And on the stone write my name;

If he never comes, I shall never know it,

But sleep on all the same.