Dante Gabriel Rossetti Famous Quotes & Sayings
32 Dante Gabriel Rossetti Famous Sayings, Quotes and Quotation.
The Wombat is a Joy, a Triumph, a Delight, a Madness!
This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
The day, though bough with bough be overrun.
But with a blessing every glade receives
High salutation.
Give honour unto Luke Evangelist; For he it was (the aged legends say) Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.
From perfect grief there need not beWisdom or even memory;One thing then learned remains to me -The woodspurge has a cup of three.
Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
I am also call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell
Was it a friend or foe that spread these lies; Nay, who but infants question in such wise, twas one of my most intimate enemies.
A Sonnet is a
moment's
monument,
Memorial from the
Soul's eternity
To one dead
deathless hour.
I am not as these are, the poet saithIn youth's pride, and the painter, among menAt bay, where never pencil comes nor pem
You have been mine before - How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar, your neck turned so, Some veil did fall, - I knew it all of yore.
Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.
Love is the last relay and ultimate outposts of eternity.
Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky: So this winged hour is dropt to us from above. Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower, This close-companioned inarticulate hour When twofold silence was the song of love.
The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful and has nobody to thank.
Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are.
I do not see them here; but after death God knows I know the faces I shall see, Each one a murdered self, with low last breath. 'I am thyself,what hast thou done to me?' 'And Iand Ithyself,' (lo! each one saith,) 'And thou thyself to all eternity!
At length their long kiss severed, with sweet smart:And as the last slow sudden drops are shedFrom sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled,So singly flagged the pulses of each heart.
Sudden Light
I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow's soar
Your neck turn'd so,
Some veil did fall, - I knew it all of yore.
Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time's eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death's despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?
So Spring comes merry towards me here, but earns
No answering smile from me, whose life is twin'd
With the dead boughs that winter still must bind,
And whom today the Spring no more concerns.
Behold, this crocus is a withering flame;
This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom's part
To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent's art.
Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them,
Nor stay till on the year's last lily-stem
The white cup shrivels round the golden heart.
The blessed damozel lean'd out
From the gold bar of Heaven;
Her eyes were deeper than the depth
Of waters still'd at even;
She had three lilies in her hand,
And the stars in her hair were seven.
Beauty like hers is genius.
I plucked a honeysuckle where The hedge on high is quick with thorn, And climbing for the prize, was torn, And fouled my feet in quag-water; And by the thorns and by the wind The blossom that I took was thinn'd, And yet I found it sweet and fair.
Her hair that lay along her back
Was yellow like ripe corn.
It is beautiful, the world, and life itself. I am glad I have lived.
Your eyes smile peace.
Oh how the family affections combat
Within this heart, and each hour flings a bomb at
My burning soul! Neither from owl nor from bat
Can peace be gained until I clasp my wombat.
Conception, my boy, fundamental brain work, is what makes all the difference in art.
Places that are empty of you are empty of life.
The sea hath no king but God alone.
Gather a shell from the strewn beach And listen at its lips: they sigh The same desire and mystery, The echo of the whole sea's speech.
I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
Love, which is quickly kindled in the gentle heart, seized this man for the fair form that was taken from me, the manner still hurts me. Love which absolves no beloved one from loving, seized me so strongly with his charm that, as thou seest, it does not leave me yet
Beauty without the beloved is a like a sword through the heart.
