Can anything be sadder than work left unfinished? Yes, work never begun.— Christina Rossetti
The most genuine Christina Rossetti quotes to get the best of your day
Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.
Be the green grass above me, with showers and dewdrops wet;
and if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget.
Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love Divine;
Love was born at Christmas; Star and angels gave the sign.
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun And crocus fires are kindling one by one: Sing robin, sing: I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?
What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow. What are brief? today and tomorrow. What are frail? spring blossoms and youth. What are deep? the ocean and truth.
Silence is more musical than any song.
What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb.
If I were a Wise Man I would do my part. Yet what can I give Him? I give Him my heart.
For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands.
My life is like a faded leaf, My harvest dwindled to a husk: Truly my life is void and brief And tedious in the barren dusk; My life is like a frozen thing, No bud nor greenness can I see: Yet rise it shall - the sap of Spring; O Jesus, rise in me.
Remember me when I am gone away, gone far away into the silent land.
Open wide the windows of our spirits and fill us full of light;
open wide the door of our hearts, that we may receive and entertain Thee with all our powers of adoration.
Love loves for ever, And finds a sort of joy in pain, And gives with nought to take again, And loves too well to end in vain: Is the gain small then? Love laughs at "never", Outlives our life, exceeds the span Appointed to mere mortal man: All which love is and does and can Is all in all then.
When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me
My heart is like a singing bird.
Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white.
Oh that it were with me As with the flower;
Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns: That I might bloom mine hour A rose in spite of thorns. Oh that my work were done As birds' that soar Rejoicing in the sun: That when my time is run And daylight too, I so might rest once more Cool with refreshing dew.
Spring is when life's alive in everything.
Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by.
Were there no God, we would be in this glorious world with grateful hearts, and no one to thank.
O passing angel, speed me with a song, a melody of heaven to reach my heart and rouse me to the race and make me strong.
It is not the deed we do Though the deed be never so fair, But the love that the dear Lord looketh for, Hidden with lovely care In the heart of the deed so fair.
Obedience is the fruit of faith.
Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime;
But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time.
I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numb'd too much for hopes or fears; Look right, look left, I dwell alone; I lift mine eyes, but dimm'd with grief No everlasting hills I see; My life is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me.
For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.
Tread softly! All the earth is holy ground.
Spring bursts today, For love is risen and all the earth's at play.
A man is ever apt to contemplate himself out of all proportion to his surroundings.
My heart is breaking for a little love
Where innocent bright-eyes daisies are With blades of grass between, Each daisy stands up like a star Out of a sky of green.
Christmas hath a beauty ... lovelier than the world can show.
Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they;
Like them we fade away As doth a leaf.
Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth,Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth,Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white,Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight.Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.
The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.
The lilies say: Behold how we Preach without words of purity.
She cried, "Laura," up the garden, "Did you miss me? Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me; For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.
I dream of you to wake; would that I might Dream of you and not wake but slumber on...
Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine.
She gave up beauty in her tender youth, gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways; she covered up her eyes lest they should gaze on vanity, and chose the bitter truth.
Let bygones be bygones.
Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust March with its peck of dust, Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, Nor even May, whose flowers One frost may wither thro' the sunless hours.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.
Christmas hath a darkness; Brighter than the blazing noon; Christmas hath a chillness Warmer than the heat of June, Christmas hath a beauty Lovelier than the world can show: For Christmas bringeth Jesus, Brought for us so low
I watched a rose-bud very long Brought on by dew and sun and shower, Waiting to see the perfect flower: Then when I thought it should be strong It opened at the matin hour And fell at even-song.
Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
Why does the sea moan evermore? Shut out from heaven it makes its moan, It frets against the boundary shore; All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.
The violets whisper from the shade Which their own leaves have made: Men scent our fragrance on the air, Yet take no heed Of humble lessons we would read.