| Poems by Women |
Marvel of Marvels
Christina Georgina Rossetti. 1830-1894
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!
From: Quiller-Couch, Arthur.
The Oxford Book of Verse. (1900)
This poet:
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This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
