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  • Текст песни Ht Bristol l - Bring Me Back to Life

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    Тут находится текст песни Ht Bristol l - Bring Me Back to Life, а также перевод, видео и клип.

    poet Christina Georgina Rossetti #60 on top 500 poets Poet's PagePoemsQuotationsCommentsStatsE-BooksBiographyShare on FacebookShare on Twitter
    Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti : 286 / 312 « prev. poem next poem »
    Under The Rose

    'The iniquity of the fathers upon the children.'

    Oh the rose of keenest thorn!
    One hidden summer morn
    Under the rose I was born.

    I do not guess his name
    Who wrought my Mother's shame,
    And gave me life forlorn,
    But my Mother, Mother, Mother,
    I know her from all other.
    My Mother pale and mild,
    Fair as ever was seen,
    She was but scarce sixteen,
    Little more than a child,
    When I was born
    To work her scorn.
    With secret bitter throes,
    In a passion of secret woes,
    She bore me under the rose.

    One who my Mother nursed
    Took me from the first:—
    'O nurse, let me look upon
    This babe that costs so dear;
    To-morrow she will be gone:
    Other mothers may keep
    Their babes awake and asleep,
    But I must not keep her here.'—
    Whether I know or guess,
    I know this not the less.

    So I was sent away
    That none might spy the truth:
    And my childhood waxed to youth
    And I left off childish play.
    I never cared to play
    With the village boys and girls;
    And I think they thought me proud,
    I found so little to say
    And kept so from the crowd:
    But I had the longest curls
    And I had the largest eyes
    And my teeth were small like pearls;
    The girls might flout and scout me,
    But the boys would hang about me
    In sheepish mooning wise.

    Our one-street village stood
    A long mile from the town,
    A mile of windy down
    And bleak one-sided wood,
    With not a single house.
    Our town itself was small,
    With just the common shops,
    And throve in its small way.
    Our neighbouring gentry reared
    The good old-fashioned crops,
    And made old-fashioned boasts
    Of what John Bull would do
    If Frenchman Frog appeared,
    And drank old-fashioned toasts,
    And made old-fashioned bows
    To my Lady at the Hall.

    My Lady at the Hall
    Is grander than they all:
    Hers is the oldest name
    In all the neighbourhood;
    But the race must die with her
    Though she's a lofty dame,
    For she's unmarried still.
    Poor people say she's good
    And has an open hand
    As any in the land,
    And she's the comforter
    Of many sick and sad;
    My nurse once said to me
    That everything she had
    Came of my Lady's bounty:
    'Though she's greatest in the county
    She's humble to the poor,
    No beggar seeks her door
    But finds help presently.
    I pray both night and day
    For her, and you must pray:
    But she'll never feel distress
    If needy folk can bless.'

    I was a little maid
    When here we came to live
    From somewhere by the sea.
    Men spoke a foreign tongue
    There where we used to be
    When I was merry and young,
    Too young to feel afraid;
    The fisher folk would give
    A kind strange word to me,
    There by the foreign sea:
    I don't know where it was,
    But I remember still
    Our cottage on a hill,
    And fields of flowering grass
    On that fair foreign shore.

    I liked my old home best,
    But this was pleasant too:
    So here we made our nest
    And here I grew.
    And now and then my Lady
    In riding past our door
    Would nod to Nurse and speak,
    Or stoop and pat my cheek;
    And I was always ready
    To hold the field-gate wide
    For my Lady to go through;
    My Lady in her veil
    So seldom put aside,
    My Lady grave and pale.

    I often sat to wonder
    Who might my parents be,
    For I knew of something under
    My simple-seeming state.
    Nurse never talked to me
    Of mother or of father,
    But watched me early and late
    With kind suspicious cares:
    Or not suspicious, rather
    Anxious, as if she knew
    Some secret I might gather
    And smart for unawares.
    Thus I grew.

    But Nurse waxed old and grey,
    Bent and weak with years.
    There came a certain day
    That she lay upon her bed
    Shaking her palsied head,
    With words she gasped to say
    Which had to stay unsaid.
    Then with a jerking hand
    Held out so piteously
    She gave a ring to me
    Of gold wrought curiously,
    A ring which she had worn
    Since the day I was born,
    She once had said to me:
    I slipped it on my finger;
    Her eyes were keen to linger
    On my hand that slipped it on;
    Then she sighed one rattling sigh
    And stared on with sightless eye:—
    The one who loved me was gone.

    How long I stayed alone
    With the corpse I never knew,
    For I fainted dead as stone:
    When I came to life once more
    I was down upon the floor,
    With neighbours making ado
    To bring me back to life.
    I heard the sexton's wife
    Say: 'Up, my lad, and run
    To tell it at the Hall;
    She was my Lady's nurse,
    And done can't be undone.
    I'll watch by this poor lamb.
    I guess my Lady's purse
    Is always open to such:
    I'd run up on my crutch
    A cripple as I am,'
    (For cramps had vexed her much)
    'Rather than this dear heart
    Lack one to take her part.'

    For days day after day
    On my weary bed I lay
    Wishing the time would pass;
    Oh, so wishing that I was
    Likely to pass away:
    For the one friend whom I knew
    Was dead, I knew no other,
    Neither father nor mother;
    And I, what should I do?

    One day the sexton's wife
    Said: 'Rouse yourself, my dear:
    My Lady has driven down
    From the Hall into the town,
    And we think she's coming here.
    Cheer up, for life is life.'

    But I would not look or speak,
    Would not cheer up at all.
    My tears were like to fall,
    So I turned round to the wall
    And hid my hollow cheek
    Making as if I slept,
    As silent as a stone,
    And no one knew I wept.
    What was my Lady to me,
    The grand lady from the Hall?
    She might come, or stay away,
    I was sick at heart that day:
    The whole world seemed to be
    Nothing, just nothing to me,
    For aught that I could see.

    Yet I listened where I lay:
    A bustle came below,
    A clear voice said: 'I know;
    I will see her first alone,
    It may be less of a shock
    If she's so weak to-day:'—
    A light hand turned the lock,
    A light step crossed the floor,
    One sat beside my bed:
    But never a word she said.

    For me, my shyness grew
    Each moment more and more:
    So I said never a word
    And neither looked nor stirred;
    I think she must have heard
    My heart go pit-a-pat:
    Thus I lay, my Lady sat,
    More than a mortal hour—
    (I counted one and two
    By the house-clock while I lay):
    I seemed to have no power
    To think of a thing to say,
    Or do what I ought to do,
    Or rouse myself to a choice.

    At last she said: 'Margaret,
    Won't you even look at me?'
    A something in her voice
    Forced my tears to fall at last,
    Forced sobs from me thick and fast;
    Something not of the past,
    Yet stirring memory;
    A something new, and yet
    Not new, too sweet to last,
    Which I never can forget.

    I turned and stared at her:
    Her cheek showed hollow-pale;
    Her hair like mine was fair,
    A wonderful fall of hair
    That screened her like a veil;
    But her height was statelier,
    Her eyes had depth more deep;
    I think they must have had
    Always a something sad,
    Unless they were asleep.

    While I stared, my Lady took
    My hand in her spare hand
    Jewelled and soft and grand,
    And looked with a long long look
    Of hunger in my face;
    As if she tried to trace
    Features she ought to know,
    And half hoped, half feared, to find.
    Whatever was in her mind
    She heaved a sigh at last,
    And began to talk to me.

    'Your nurse was my dear nurse,
    And her nursling's dear,' said she:
    'I never knew that she was worse
    Till her poor life was past'
    (Here my Lady's tears dropped fast):
    'I might have been with her,
    But she had no comforter.
    She might have told me much
    Which now I shall never know,
    Never never shall know.'
    She sat by me sobbing so,
    And seemed so woe-begone,
    That I laid one hand upon
    Hers with a timid touch,
    Scarce thinking what I did,
    Not knowing what to say:
    That moment her face was hid
    In the pillow close by mine,
    Her arm was flung over me,
    She hugged me, sobbing so
    As if her heart would break,
    And kissed me where I lay.

    After this she often came
    To bring me fruit or wine,
    Or sometimes hothouse flowers.
    And at nights I lay awake
    Often and often thinking
    What to do for her sake.
    Wet or dry it was the same:
    She would come in at all hours,
    Set me eating and drinking
    And say I must grow strong;
    At last the day seemed long
    And home seemed scarcely home
    If she did not come.

    Well, I grew strong again:
    In time of primroses,
    I went to pluck them in the lane;
    In time of nestling birds,
    I heard them chirping round the house;
    And all the herds
    Were out at grass when I grew strong,
    And days were waxen long,
    And there was work for bees
    Among

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