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Christina Georgina Rossetti

Marvel of Marvels

MARVEL of marvels, if I myself shall behold
With mine own eyes my King in His city of gold;
Where the least of lambs is spotless white in the fold,
Where the least and last of saints in spotless white is stoled,
Where the dimmest head beyond a moon is aureoled.
O saints, my beloved, now mouldering to mould in the mould,
Shall I see you lift your heads, see your cerements unroll'd,
See with these very eyes? who now in darkness and cold
Tremble for the midnight cry, the rapture, the tale untold,—
The Bridegroom cometh, cometh, His Bride to enfold!

Cold it is, my beloved, since your funeral bell was toll'd:
Cold it is, O my King, how cold alone on the wold!

 
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About the poet
Christina Georgina Rossetti
 
By the same poet
Bride Song
A Birthday
Song
Twice
Uphill
Passing Away
Is it Well with the Child?
Remember
Aloof
Rest
 
Related books
Christina Rossetti at amazon.com


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