Bring Me Back to Life (OST Измены) - Ht Bristol l - Минусовка песни bring me back to life

poet Christina Georgina Rossetti 60 on top 500 poets Poet's PagePoemsQuotationsCommentsStatsE-BooksBiographyShare on FacebookShare on Twitter Poems by Christina Georgina Rossetti 286 / 312 prev. poem next poem Under The Rose 'The iniquity of the fathers upon the children.' Oh the rose of keenest thorn One hidden summer morn Under the rose I was born. I do not guess his name Who wrought my Mother's shame, And gave me life forlorn, But my Mother, Mother, Mother, I know her from all other. My Mother pale and mild, Fair as ever was seen, She was but scarce sixteen, Little more than a child, When I was born To work her scorn. With secret bitter throes, In a passion of secret woes, She bore me under the rose. One who my Mother nursed Took me from the first 'O nurse, let me look upon This babe that costs so dear To-morrow she will be gone Other mothers may keep Their babes awake and asleep, But I must not keep her here.' Whether I know or guess, I know this not the less. So I was sent away That none might spy the truth And my childhood waxed to youth And I left off childish play. I never cared to play With the village boys and girls And I think they thought me proud, I found so little to say And kept so from the crowd But I had the longest curls And I had the largest eyes And my teeth were small like pearls The girls might flout and scout me, But the boys would hang about me In sheepish mooning wise. Our one-street village stood A long mile from the town, A mile of windy down And bleak one-sided wood, With not a single house. Our town itself was small, With just the common shops, And throve in its small way. Our neighbouring gentry reared The good old-fashioned crops, And made old-fashioned boasts Of what John Bull would do If Frenchman Frog appeared, And drank old-fashioned toasts, And made old-fashioned bows To my Lady at the Hall. My Lady at the Hall Is grander than they all Hers is the oldest name In all the neighbourhood But the race must die with her Though she's a lofty dame, For she's unmarried still. Poor people say she's good And has an open hand As any in the land, And she's the comforter Of many sick and sad My nurse once said to me That everything she had Came of my Lady's bounty 'Though she's greatest in the county She's humble to the poor, No beggar seeks her door But finds help presently. I pray both night and day For her, and you must pray But she'll never feel distress If needy folk can bless.' I was a little maid When here we came to live From somewhere by the sea. Men spoke a foreign tongue There where we used to be When I was merry and young, Too young to feel afraid The fisher folk would give A kind strange word to me, There by the foreign sea I don't know where it was, But I remember still Our cottage on a hill, And fields of flowering grass On that fair foreign shore. I liked my old home best, But this was pleasant too So here we made our nest And here I grew. And now and then my Lady In riding past our door Would nod to Nurse and speak, Or stoop and pat my cheek And I was always ready To hold the field-gate wide For my Lady to go through My Lady in her veil So seldom put aside, My Lady grave and pale. I often sat to wonder Who might my parents be, For I knew of something under My simple-seeming state. Nurse never talked to me Of mother or of father, But watched me early and late With kind suspicious cares Or not suspicious, rather Anxious, as if she knew Some secret I might gather And smart for unawares. Thus I grew. But Nurse waxed old and grey, Bent and weak with years. There came a certain day That she lay upon her bed Shaking her palsied head, With words she gasped to say Which had to stay unsaid. Then with a jerking hand Held out so piteously She gave a ring to me Of gold wrought curiously, A ring which she had worn Since the day I was born, She once had said to me I slipped it on my finger Her eyes were keen to linger On my hand that slipped it on Then she sighed one rattling sigh And stared on with sightless eye The one who loved me was gone. How long I stayed alone With the corpse I never knew, For I fainted dead as stone When I came to life once more I was down upon the floor, With neighbours making ado To bring me back to life. I heard the sexton's wife Say 'Up, my lad, and run To tell it at the Hall She was my Lady's nurse, And done can't be undone. I'll watch by this poor lamb. I guess my Lady's purse Is always open to such I'd run up on my crutch A cripple as I am,' (For cramps had vexed her much) 'Rather than this dear heart Lack one to take her part.' For days day after day On my weary bed I lay Wishing the time would pass Oh, so wishing that I was Likely to pass away For the one friend whom I knew Was dead, I knew no other, Neither father nor mother And I, what should I do? One day the sexton's wife Said 'Rouse yourself, my dear My Lady has driven down From the Hall into the town, And we think she's coming here. Cheer up, for life is life.' But I would not look or speak, Would not cheer up at all. My tears were like to fall, So I turned round to the wall And hid my hollow cheek Making as if I slept, As silent as a stone, And no one knew I wept. What was my Lady to me, The grand lady from the Hall? She might come, or stay away, I was sick at heart that day The whole world seemed to be Nothing, just nothing to me, For aught that I could see. Yet I listened where I lay A bustle came below, A clear voice said 'I know I will see her first alone, It may be less of a shock If she's so weak to-day' A light hand turned the lock, A light step crossed the floor, One sat beside my bed But never a word she said. For me, my shyness grew Each moment more and more So I said never a word And neither looked nor stirred I think she must have heard My heart go pit-a-pat Thus I lay, my Lady sat, More than a mortal hour (I counted one and two By the house-clock while I lay) I seemed to have no power To think of a thing to say, Or do what I ought to do, Or rouse myself to a choice. At last she said 'Margaret, Won't you even look at me?' A something in her voice Forced my tears to fall at last, Forced sobs from me thick and fast Something not of the past, Yet stirring memory A something new, and yet Not new, too sweet to last, Which I never can forget. I turned and stared at her Her cheek showed hollow-pale Her hair like mine was fair, A wonderful fall of hair That screened her like a veil But her height was statelier, Her eyes had depth more deep I think they must have had Always a something sad, Unless they were asleep. While I stared, my Lady took My hand in her spare hand Jewelled and soft and grand, And looked with a long long look Of hunger in my face As if she tried to trace Features she ought to know, And half hoped, half feared, to find. Whatever was in her mind She heaved a sigh at last, And began to talk to me. 'Your nurse was my dear nurse, And her nursling's dear,' said she 'I never knew that she was worse Till her poor life was past' (Here my Lady's tears dropped fast) 'I might have been with her, But she had no comforter. She might have told me much Which now I shall never know, Never never shall know.' She sat by me sobbing so, And seemed so woe-begone, That I laid one hand upon Hers with a timid touch, Scarce thinking what I did, Not knowing what to say That moment her face was hid In the pillow close by mine, Her arm was flung over me, She hugged me, sobbing so As if her heart would break, And kissed me where I lay. After this she often came To bring me fruit or wine, Or sometimes hothouse flowers. And at nights I lay awake Often and often thinking What to do for her sake. Wet or dry it was the same She would come in at all hours, Set me eating and drinking And say I must grow strong At last the day seemed long And home seemed scarcely home If she did not come. Well, I grew strong again In time of primroses, I went to pluck them in the lane In time of nestling birds, I heard them chirping round the house And all the herds Were out at grass when I grew strong, And days were waxen long, And there was work for bees Among the May-bush boughs, And I had shot up tall, And life felt after all Pleasant, and not so long When I grew strong. I was going to the Hall To be my Lady's maid 'Her little friend,' she said to me, 'Almost her child,' She said and smiled Sighing painfully Blushing, with a second flush As if she blushed to blush. Friend, servant, child just this My standing at the Hall The other servants call me 'Miss,' My Lady calls me 'Margaret,' With her clear voice musical. She never chides when I forget This or that she never chides. Except when people come to stay, (And that's not often) at the Hall, I sit with her all day And ride out when she rides. She sings to me and makes me sing Sometimes I read to her, Sometimes we merely sit and talk. She noticed onc