CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI
The enchanted dove upon her branch
Died without a mate ; The enchanted princess in her tower
Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while
You made it wait.
Ten years ago, five years ago,
One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time,
Though somewhat slow, Then you had known her living face
Which now you cannot know The frozen fountain would have leap'd.
The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked
To melt the snow.
��Is she fair now as she
Once she was fair, Meet queen for any kingly king,
With gold-dust on her hair. Now there are poppies in her locks,
White poppies she must wear, Must wear a veil to shioud her face
And the want graven there. Or is the hunger fed at length,
Cast off the care?
We never saw her with a smile
Or with a frown ; Her bed seem'd never soft to her,
Though toss'd of down;
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