Quotes from Dante Gabriel Rossetti

When vain desire at last, and vain regretGo hand in hand to death, and all is vain,What shall assuage the unforgotten painAnd teach the unforgetful to forget?

Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragonfly Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky.

My name is Might-have-been;I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell.

Tell me now in what hidden way isLady Flora the lovely Roman?Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thaïs,Neither of them the fairer woman.Where is Echo, beheld of no manOnly heard on river and mere—She whose beauty was more than human?…But where are the snows of yesteryear?

Beauty like hers is genius.

The sea hath no king but God alone.

The blessed damozel leaned outFrom the gold bar of Heaven;Her eyes were deeper than the depthOf waters stilled at even;She had three lilies in her hand,And the stars in her hair were seven.

And the souls mounting up to GodWent by her like thin flames.

One thing then learned remains to me—The woodspurge has a cup of three.

Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are.

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; I am also call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell

Places that are empty of you are empty of life.

The blessed damozel lean'd out From the gold bar of Heaven; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters still'd at even; She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven.

Love, which is quickly kindled in the gentle heart, seized this man for the fair form that was taken from me, the manner still hurts me. Love which absolves no beloved one from loving, seized me so strongly with his charm that, as thou seest, it does not leave me yet

A Sonnet is a moment's monument,— Memorial from the Soul's eternity To one dead deathless hour.

I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

Her enchanted hair was the first gold, and still she sits, young while the earth is old.

Oh how the family affections combat Within this heart, and each hour flings a bomb at My burning soul! Neither from owl nor from bat Can peace be gained until I clasp my wombat.

I marked all kindred Powers the heart finds fair:-- Truth, with awed lips; and Hope, with eyes upcast; And Fame, whose loud wings fan the ashen Past To signal-fires, Oblivion's flight to scare; And Youth, with still some single golden hair Unto his shoulder clinging, since the last Embrace wherein two sweet arms held him fast; And Life, still wreathing flowers for Death to wear. Love's throne was not with these; but far above All passionate wind of welcome and farewell

Can peace be gained until I clasp my wombat?

Fold me fast, O God-snake of Eden! ( Sing Eden Bower! ) What more prize than love to impel thee? Grip and lip my limbs as I tell thee! ... Lo! sweet Snake, the travail and treasure,---

A translator ought to be faithful, but is not bound down to being literal.

Ye who have passed Death's haggard hills; and ye Whom trees that knew your sires shall cease to know And still stand silent:--is it all a show,-- A wisp that laughs upon the wall?

Unto the man of yearning thought And aspiration, to do nought Is in itself almost an act.