THIS NEAR-AT-HAND LAND BREEDS PAIN BY MEASURE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI

This near-at-hand land breeds pain by measure:
That far-away land overflows with treasure
Of heaped-up good pleasure.

Our land that we see is befouled by evil:
The land that we see not makes mirth and revel,
Far from death and devil.

This land hath for music sobbing and sighing:
That land hath soft speech and sweet soft replying
Of all loves undying.

This land hath for pastime errors and follies:
That land hath unending unflagging solace
Of full-chanted "Holies."

"Up and away," call the Angels to us;
"Come to our home where no foes pursue us.
And no tears bedew us;

"Where that which riseth sets again
Where that which springeth flows in a river
For ever and ever;

"Where harvest justifies labour of sowing,
Where that which budded comes to the blowing,
Sweet beyond your knowing.

"Come and laugh with us, sing in our singing;
Come, yearn no more, but rest in your clinging.
See what we are bringing;

"Crowns like our own crowns, robes for your wearing;
For love of you we kiss them in bearing,
All good with you sharing:

"Over you gladdening, in you delighting;
Come from your famine, your failure, your fighting;
Come to full wrong-righting.

"Come, where all balm is garnered to ease you;
Come, where all beauty is spread out to please you;
Come, gaze upon Jesu."

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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