Dante Gabriel Rossetti

(12 May 1828 – 9 April 1882 / London / England)

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Poems

1. A Bad Omen 4/12/2010
2. A Bitter Song to His Lady 10/13/2015
3. A Death-Parting 4/12/2010
4. A Foretaste 4/12/2010
5. A Half-Way Pause 4/12/2010
6. A Last Confession 4/12/2010
7. A Little While 1/3/2003
8. A Match With The Moon 4/12/2010
9. A New-Year’s Burden 4/12/2010
10. A Prayer 4/12/2010
11. A Sea-Spell 1/3/2003
12. A Superscription 4/12/2010
13. A Young Fir-Wood 4/12/2010
14. Address To The Dalziel Brothers 4/12/2010
15. Adieu 4/12/2010
16. After The French Liberation Of Italy 4/12/2010
17. After The German Subjugation Of France, 1871 4/12/2010
18. Afterwards 4/12/2010
19. Alas, So Long! 4/12/2010
20. Almost Over 4/12/2010
21. An Altar-Flame 4/12/2010
22. An Epitaph For Keats 4/12/2010
23. An Old Song Ended 4/12/2010
24. Another Love 4/12/2010
25. Antwerp And Bruges 4/12/2010
26. Antwerp To Ghent 4/12/2010
27. Ashore At Dover 4/12/2010
28. Aspecta Medusa ( For A Drawing) 12/31/2002
29. Astarte Syriaca 4/12/2010
30. At Issue 4/12/2010
31. At The Station Of The Versailles Railway 4/12/2010
32. At The Sun-Rise In 1848 4/12/2010
33. Autumn Song 12/31/2002
34. Ave 4/12/2010
35. Bambino Fasciato 4/12/2010
36. Barcarola 4/12/2010
37. Barcarola (#2) 4/12/2010
38. Beauty And The Bird 4/12/2010
39. Between Ghent And Bruges 4/12/2010
40. Blake 4/12/2010
Best Poem of Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Autumn Song

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In...

Read the full of Autumn Song

Broken Music

The mother will not turn, who thinks she hears
Her nursling's speech first grow articulate;
But breathless with averted eyes elate
She sits, with open lips and open ears,
That it may call her twice. 'Mid doubts and fears
Thus oft my soul has hearkened; till the song,
A central moan for days, at length found tongue,
And the sweet music welled and the sweet tears.

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