After Death by Christina Rossetti
After I had to read Goblin Market in my children’s lit class (which I did not much care for) I realized Christina Rossetti was a little strange. She kind of creeps me out.
After Death
By Christina Rossetti
The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept
And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may
Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay,
Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept.
He lean’d above me, thinking that I slept
And could not hear him; but I heard him say:
“Poor child, poor child:” and as he turn’d away
Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept.
He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold
That hid my face, or take my hand in his,
Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head:
He did not love me living; but once dead
He pitied me; and very sweet it is
To know he still is warm though I am cold.
