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Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Данте Габриэль Россетти)


At Issue


THAT voice I hear,—how heard I cannot tell,—
Although my home is this, seems from my home:
There… still it trails along and murmurs “Come”;
Like the slow death of sound within a bell,
Or like the humming whine in some pink shell
Wet with the brittle beadage of the foam
Which bird—eyed damsels stoop for when they roam
By the old sea. Were't not exceeding well
To shake my soul out of this tiresome life
For a call any—whence and any—whither?
That voice knows all the life I have or had,
And mocks me not,—it's whisper is too sad.
Even to attain calm sorrow lures me thither,
Since here this search for joy wearies like strife. 



Dante Gabriel Rossetti's other poems:
  1. The House of Life. Sonnet 67. The Landmark
  2. The House of Life. Sonnet 87. Death's Songsters
  3. The House of Life. Sonnet 82. Hoarded Joy
  4. The House of Life. Sonnet 50. Willowwood - 2
  5. The House of Life. Sonnet 20. Gracious Moonlight


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