Death's Chill Between

October 14, 1848

by Christina Rossetti
Chide not; let me breathe a little,
  For I shall not mourn him long;
Though the life-cord was so brittle,
  The love-cord was very strong.
I would wake a little space
Till I find a sleeping-place.
You can go,—I shall not weep;
  You can go unto your rest.
My heart-ache is all too deep,
  And too sore my throbbing breast.
Can sobs be, or angry tears,
Where are neither hopes nor fears?
Though with you I am alone
  And must be so everywhere,
I will make no useless moan,—
  None shall say 'She could not bear:'
While life lasts I will be strong,—
But I shall not struggle long.
Listen, listen! Everywhere
  A low voice is calling me,
And a step is on the stair,
  And one comes ye do not see,
Listen, listen! Evermore
A dim hand knocks at the door.
Hear me; he is come again,—
  My own dearest is come back.
Bring him in from the cold rain;
  Bring wine, and let nothing lack.
Thou and I will rest together,
Love, until the sunny weather.
I will shelter thee from harm,—
  Hide thee from all heaviness.
Come to me, and keep thee warm
  By my side in quietness.
I will lull thee to thy sleep
With sweet songs:--we will not weep.
Who hath talked of weeping?—Yet
  There is something at my heart,
Gnawing, I would fain forget,
  And an aching and a smart.
--Ah! my mother, 'tis in vain,
For he is not come again.