Dante Gabriel Rossetti

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

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Poems

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

The Woodspurge

The wind flapp'd loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walk'd on at the wind's will,--
I sat now, for the wind was still.

Between my knees my forehead was,--
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass.

[Hata Bildir]