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.

We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.

We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.

Consider
The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:--
We are as they;
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Consider
The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:--
We are as they;
Like them we fade away
As doth a leaf.

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
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The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
That is so silent, sweet, and pale:
Come, so ye wake the nightingale.

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.