Christina G. Rossetti

Let but my scarlet head appear
And I am held in scorn;
Yet juice of subtile virtue read more

Let but my scarlet head appear
And I am held in scorn;
Yet juice of subtile virtue lies
Within my cup of curious dyes.

The violets whisper from the shade
Which their own leaves have made:
Men scent our fragrance on read more

The violets whisper from the shade
Which their own leaves have made:
Men scent our fragrance on the air,
Yet take no heed
Of humble lessons we would read.

There goes the swallow,--
Could we but follow!
Hasty swallow, stay,
Point us out read more

There goes the swallow,--
Could we but follow!
Hasty swallow, stay,
Point us out the way;
Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop swallow.

Somewhere or other there must surely be
The face not seen, the voice not heard,
The heart read more

Somewhere or other there must surely be
The face not seen, the voice not heard,
The heart that not yet--never yet--ah me!
Made answer to my word.

We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.

We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.