The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept
And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may
Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay,
Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept.
He leaned above me, thinking that I slept
And could not hear him; but I heard him say,
‘Poor child, poor child’: and as he turned away
Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept.
He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold
That hid my face, or take my hand in his,
Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head:
He did not love me living; but once dead
He pitied me; and very sweet it is
To know he still is warm though I am cold.
Le tende erano accostate, il pavimento era spazzato
e cosparso di giunchi, rosmarino e biancospino,
posati fitti, era il letto su cui giacevo,
dove, attraverso la grata, si insinuava l’ombra dell’ edera.
Si è sporto sopra di me, pensando che io dormissi
e non potessi sentirlo; ma l’ho sentito dire,
“Povera bambina, povera bambina”: e mentre si voltava
è giunto il suo profondo silenzio e io sapevo che piangeva.
Non ha toccato il drappo, non ha alzato il velo
che mi nascondeva il viso, né ha preso la mia mano nella sua,
o sprimacciato i morbidi cuscini per la mia testa.
Non mi amava da viva ma da morta
mi ha compianta; ed è davvero dolce
sapere che lui è ancora caldo mentre io sono fredda
(L.Z.)
Highgate, London, UK?
(I think I was there)
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Yes, in the UK
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WoW! What memories do I have of the “Village” … Beautiful!
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🙂
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Molto bella.
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Sì, hai ragione!
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Wow
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🙂
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So very sad.
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You are right!
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Da brivido. versi particolari e intensi.
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Bellissimi davvero!
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Sad, powerful poem.
Seeing Christina Rossetti’s name reminded me of the character based on her in A.S. Byatt’s fantastic novel “Possession.”
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Thank you for your kind information 🙂
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Meaningful
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🙂
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