IN her deep bosom the pride settled down—
That pride which is a brackish thing like salt;
And the life in her pulses seemed to halt.
About her temples for an iron crown
She set stern patience. She did never frown,
But her long gaze was gentle to a fault;
And, looking deep into her eyes, you had call’d
Their lustre nothing but a mild clear brown.
She lives and moves and is a mystery.
That which she hath been the thought cannot touch;
Only, beholding what she is, it hath
Glimpses of something she is yet to be;
And at the least it knows of her thus much:—
She bides her season with a solemn faith.
One Of Time’s Riddles
Did you enjoy the the artible “One Of Time’s Riddles” from Dante Gabriel Rossetti on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply