Dante Gabriel Rossetti

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

Almost Over


YOU say I should not think upon her now:
But then I have stood beside her listening,
And watched her rose—breathed lips when she would sing:
And I can scarcely yet imagine how
I ever should despise that stately brow
And flowering breast that is so pure a thing.
Alas for all the weary blood—running
When from the heart love strives to tear a vow!
And yet perchance—even as you tell me—soon
Her spirit of my spirit will leave hold,
And, when I hear her tread, I shall not blush
Doubly, for love and shame. But then the moon
Assuredly will rise, and Sleep shall fold
Her hair round me, and Death will whisper Hush!

Submitted: Monday, April 12, 2010

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