Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/996

 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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