Light Love
'Oh, sad thy lot before I came,But sadder when I go;My presence but a flash of flame,A transitory glowBetween two barren wastes like snow.What wilt thou do when I am gone,Where wilt thou rest, my dear?For cold thy bed to rest upon,And cold the falling yearWhose withered leaves are lost and sere.'
She hushed the baby at her breast,She rocked it on her knee:'And I will rest my lonely rest,Warmed with the thought of thee,Rest lulled to rest by memory.'She hushed the baby with her kiss,She hushed it with her breast:'Is death so sadder much than this--Sure death that builds a nestFor those who elsewhere cannot rest?'
'Oh, sad thy note, my mateless dove,With tender nestling cold;But hast thou ne'er another loveLeft from the days of old,To build thy nest of silk and gold,To warm thy paleness to a blushWhen I am far away--To warm thy coldness to a flush,And turn thee back to May,And turn thy twilight back to day?'
She did not answer him again,But leaned her face aside,Weary with the pang of shame and pain,And sore with wounded pride:He knew his very soul had lied.She strained his baby in her arms,His baby to her heart:'Even let it go, the love that harms:We twain will never part;Mine own, his own, how dear thou art.'
'Now never teaze me, tender-eyed,Sigh-voiced,' he said in scorn:'For nigh at hand there blooms a bride,My bride before the morn;Ripe-blooming she, as thou forlorn.Ripe-blooming she, my rose, my peach;She woos me day and night:I watch her tremble in my reach;She reddens, my delight,She ripens, reddens in my sight.'
'And is she like a sunlit rose?Am I like withered leaves?Haste where thy spiced garden blows:But in bare Autumn evesWilt thou have store of harvest sheaves?Thou leavest love, true love behind,To seek a love as true;Go, seek in haste: but wilt thou find?Change new again for new;Pluck up, enjoy--yea, trample too.
'Alas for her, poor faded rose,Alas for her her, like me,Cast down and trampled in the snows.''Like thee? nay, not like thee:She leans, but from a guarded tree.Farewell, and dream as long ago,Before we ever met:Farewell; my swift-paced horse seems slow.'She raised her eyes, not wetBut hard, to Heaven: 'Does God forget?'
Words in this poem
- sere n.
- Claw; talon. Chapman. [F. serre.]
- mateless a.
- Having no mate. [Cf. Matchless.]
- nestling n.
- A young bird which has not abandoned the nest. Piers Plowman.
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- lied n.
- A lay; a German song. It differs from the French chanson, and the Italian canzone, all three being national. [G.]
- twain a.
- Two;- nearly obsolete in common discourse, but used in poetry and burlesque. [OE. twein, tweien, tweyne, AS. twegen, masc. See Two.]
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
- forlorn a.
- Deserted abandoned; lost. [OE., p.p. of forlesen to lose utterly, AS. forleósan (p.p. forloren); pref. for- + leósan (in comp.) to lose; cf. D. verliezen to lose, G. verlieren, Sw. förlor]
- sunlit a.
- Lighted by the sun.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Light Love is in the public domain. This text is taken from Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #16950; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Christina Rossetti, Light Love, in Goblin Market and Other Poems (1862), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #16950, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/rossetti-goblin-market/light-love.html, id L04309.
Form and metre
Light Love is 70 lines in 7 stanzas of 10 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABBCDCDD, complete in 5 of its 7 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 94%). 99% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.3 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 10% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABB-C-CC cameA · goB · flameA · glowB · snowB · gone · dearC · upon · yearC · sereC
- 2 ABAB-CACAA breastA · kneeB · restA · theeB · memory · kissC · breastA · thisC · nestA · restA
- 3 ABABBCDCDD doveA · coldB · loveA · oldB · goldB · blushC · awayD · flushC · mayD · dayD
- 4 ABABBCDCDD againA · asideB · painA · prideB · liedB · armsC · heartD · harmsC · partD · artD
- 5 ABABBCDCDD eyedA · scornB · brideA · mornB · forlornB · peachC · nightD · reachC · delightD · sightD
- 6 ABABBCDCDD roseA · leavesB · blowsA · evesB · sheavesB · behindC · trueD · findC · newD · tooD
- 7 ABABBCDCDD roseA · meB · snowsA · theeB · treeB · agoC · metD · slowC · wetD · forgetD
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| 'Oh, sad thy lot before I came, | 8 | ········ |
| But sadder when I go; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| My presence but a flash of flame, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| A transitory glow | 6 | ·/˘·˘· |
| Between two barren wastes like snow. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| What wilt thou do when I am gone, | 8 | ········ |
| Where wilt thou rest, my dear? | 6 | ······ |
| For cold thy bed to rest upon, | 8 | ········ |
| And cold the falling year | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Whose withered leaves are lost and sere.' | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| She hushed the baby at her breast, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| She rocked it on her knee: | 6 | ······ |
| 'And I will rest my lonely rest, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Warmed with the thought of thee, | 6 | ······ |
| Rest lulled to rest by memory.' | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| She hushed the baby with her kiss, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| She hushed it with her breast: | 6 | ······ |
| 'Is death so sadder much than this-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Sure death that builds a nest | 6 | ······ |
| For those who elsewhere cannot rest?' | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| 'Oh, sad thy note, my mateless dove, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| With tender nestling cold; | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| But hast thou ne'er another love | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| Left from the days of old, | 6 | ······ |
| To build thy nest of silk and gold, | 8 | ········ |
| To warm thy paleness to a blush | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| When I am far away-- | 6 | ····˘/ |
| To warm thy coldness to a flush, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And turn thee back to May, | 6 | ······ |
| And turn thy twilight back to day?' | 8 | ···/···· |
| She did not answer him again, | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| But leaned her face aside, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Weary with the pang of shame and pain, | 9 | /˘······· |
| And sore with wounded pride: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| He knew his very soul had lied. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| She strained his baby in her arms, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| His baby to her heart: | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| 'Even let it go, the love that harms: | 8 | /······· |
| We twain will never part; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Mine own, his own, how dear thou art.' | 8 | ········ |
| 'Now never teaze me, tender-eyed, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Sigh-voiced,' he said in scorn: | 6 | ······ |
| 'For nigh at hand there blooms a bride, | 8 | ········ |
| My bride before the morn; | 6 | ······ |
| Ripe-blooming she, as thou forlorn. | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| Ripe-blooming she, my rose, my peach; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| She woos me day and night: | 6 | ······ |
| I watch her tremble in my reach; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| She reddens, my delight, | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| She ripens, reddens in my sight.' | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| 'And is she like a sunlit rose? | 8 | ·····/·· |
| Am I like withered leaves? | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Haste where thy spiced garden blows: | 7 | ····/˘· |
| But in bare Autumn eves | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Wilt thou have store of harvest sheaves? | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Thou leavest love, true love behind, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| To seek a love as true; | 6 | ······ |
| Go, seek in haste: but wilt thou find? | 8 | ········ |
| Change new again for new; | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Pluck up, enjoy--yea, trample too. | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| 'Alas for her, poor faded rose, | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| Alas for her her, like me, | 7 | ˘/····· |
| Cast down and trampled in the snows.' | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| 'Like thee? nay, not like thee: | 6 | ······ |
| She leans, but from a guarded tree. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Farewell, and dream as long ago, | 8 | ·/····˘/ |
| Before we ever met: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Farewell; my swift-paced horse seems slow.' | 8 | ·/······ |
| She raised her eyes, not wet | 6 | ······ |
| But hard, to Heaven: 'Does God forget?' | 8 | ···/··˘/ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.