Here is my chosen Rossetti poem for this week and this week I have chosen one of her sonnets and this one is about Autumn.
18 So late in Autumn half the world's asleep, And half the wakeful world looks pinched and pale, For dampness now, not freshness, rides the gale; And cold and colourless comes ashore the deep With tides that bluster or with tides that creep; Now veiled uncouthness wears an uncouth veil Of fog, not sultry haze; and blight and bale Have done their worst, and leaves rot on the heap. So late in Autumn one forgets the Spring, Forgets the Summer with its opulence, The callow birds that long have found a wing, The swallows that more lately gat them hence: Will anything like Spring, will anything Like Summer, rouse one day the slumbering sense? Christina Rossetti
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