Christina Rossetti: Poems

Conference Between Christ, The Saints, And The Soul

(Lyra Eucharistica, 1863.)

I am pale with sick desire,

For my heart is far away

From this world's fitful fire

And this world's waning day;

In a dream it overleaps

A world of tedious ills

To where the sunshine sleeps

On th' everlasting hills.

Say the Saints--There Angels ease us

Glorified and white. 10

They say--We rest in Jesus,

Where is not day nor night.

My Soul saith--I have sought

For a home that is not gained,

I have spent yet nothing bought,

Have laboured but not attained;

My pride strove to rise and grow,

And hath but dwindled down;

My love sought love, and lo!

Hath not attained its crown. 20

Say the Saints--Fresh Souls increase us,

None languish nor recede.

They say--We love our Jesus,

And He loves us indeed.

I cannot rise above,

I cannot rest beneath,

I cannot find out Love,

Nor escape from Death;

Dear hopes and joys gone by

Still mock me with a name; 30

My best beloved die

And I cannot die with them.

Say the Saints--No deaths decrease us,

Where our rest is glorious.

They say--We live in Jesus,

Who once died for us.

Oh, my Soul, she beats her wings

And pants to fly away

Up to immortal Things

In the Heavenly day: 40

Yet she flags and almost faints;

Can such be meant for me?

Come and see--say the Saints.

Saith Jesus--Come and see.

Say the Saints--His Pleasures please us

Before God and the Lamb.

Come and taste My Sweets--saith Jesus--

Be with Me where I am.