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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 51. Willowwood - 3
  2. The House of Life. Sonnet 66. The Heart of the Night
  3. The House of Life. Sonnet 32. Equal Troth
  4. The House of Life. Sonnet 20. Gracious Moonlight
  5. The House of Life. Sonnet 85. Vain Virtues


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