CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI 790 A Birthday
r Y heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watcr'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
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rHEN I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me, Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the ram ;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain;
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