Goblin Market

that no pain shall wake, night that no morn shall break, Till joy shall overtake her perfect peace.

Section 4 of Goblin Market and Other Poems by Christina Rossetti This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

At Home When I was dead, my spirit

turned to seek the much-frequented house.

We should find no moss In the shadiest places, Find no waving meadow-grass Pied with broad-eyed daisies, But miles of barren sand With never a son or daughter, Not a lily on the land Or lily on the water.

A dirge Why were you born when the snow was falling? You should have come to the cuckoo's calling Or when grapes are green in the cluster Or at least when lithe swallows muster For they're far off flying from summer dying Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? You should have died at the apples dropping, When the grasshopper comes to trouble, And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, And all winds go sighing, for sweet things dying.

Section 9 of Goblin Market and Other Poems by Christina Rossetti.

This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

It feels good to Geico.

Section 1 of Goblin Market and Other Poems This is a LibriVox recording.

All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Goblin Market and Other Poems by Christina Rossetti Read by Elizabeth Klett section one goblin market morning and evening maids heard the goblins cry come buy our orchard fruits come buy come buy apples and quinces lemons and oranges plump unpacked cherries melons and raspberries bloom down cheeked peaches swart-headed mulberries wild free-born cranberries crab-apples dewberries pine-apples blackberries apricots strawberries all ripe together in summer weather morns that pass by fair eaves that fly come by come by are grapes fresh from the vine pomegranates full and fine dates and sharp bolaces rare pears and greengages damsons and bilberries taste them and try currants and gooseberries bright fire-like barberries figs to fill your mouth citrons from the south sweet to tongue and sound to eye come by come by Evening by evening among the brookside rushes, Laura bowed her head to hear, Lizzy veiled her blushes.

Crouching close together in the cooling weather, With clasping arms and cautioning lips, With tingling cheeks and finger-tips.

Lie close, Laura said, pricking up her golden head, We must not look at goblin-men, we must not buy their fruits, who knows upon what soil they fed their hungry thirsty roots come by call the goblins hobbling down the glen oh cried lizzie laura laura you should not peep at goblin men lizzie covered up her eyes covered close lest they should look laura reared her glossy head and whispered like the restless brook look lizzie look lizzie down the glen tramp little men one hauls a basket one bears a plate one lugs a golden dish of many pounds weight how fair the vine must grow whose grapes are so luscious how warm the wind must blow through the fruit bushes no said lizzie no no no their offers should not charm us their evil gifts would harm us she thrust a dimpled finger in each ear shut eyes and ran curious laura chose to linger wondering at each merchantman one had a cat's face one whisked a tail one tramped at a rat's pace one crawled like a snail one like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry one like a rattle tumbled hurry-scurry she heard a voice like voice of doves cooing all together they sounded kind and full of loves in the pleasant weather laura stretched her gleaming neck like a rush imbedded swan like a lily from the beck like a moonlit poplar branch like a vessel at the launch when its last restraint is gone backwards up the mossy glen turned and trooped the goblin men with their shrill repeated cry come by come by when they reached where laura was they stood stock-still upon the moss leering at each other brother with queer brother signalling each other brother with sly brother one set his basket down one reared his plate one began to weave a crown of tendrils leaves and rough nuts brown men sell not such in any town one heaved the golden weight of dish and fruit to offer her come by come by was still their cry Laura stared, but did not stir, Longed, but had no money.

yet mine own country if i one day may see its spices and cedars its gold and ivory as i lie dreaming it rises that land there rises before me its green golden strand with the bowing cedars and the shining sand it sparkles and flashes like a shaken brand do angels lean nearer while i lie and long i see their soft plumage and catch their windy song like the rise of a high tide sweeping full and strong i mark the outskirts of their reverend throng o what is a king here or what is a boor here all starve together all dwarfed and poor here death's hand knocketh at door after door he thins the dancers from the festal floor or what is a handmaid or what is a queen all must lie down together where the turf is green the foulest face hidden the fairest not seen gone as if never they had breathed or been gone from sweet sunshine underneath the sod turned from warm flesh and blood to senseless clod gone as if never they had toiled or trod gone out of sight of all except our god shut into silence from the accustomed song shut into solitude from all earth's throng run down though swift of foot thrust down though strong life made an end of seemed it short or long life made an end of life but just begun life finished yesterday its last sand run While done is done for ever, Undone, undone.

And if that life is life, This is but a breath, The passage of a dream, And the shadow of death, But a vain shadow if one considereth, Vanity of vanities, As the preacher saith.

You're going to have to strap me to a pole.

Or Laura and Lizzie in the Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti.

You know, she's wanting, the way that she gets over that is her sister gets hit with all the fruit and she tastes it one more time.

So this is a want kind of base thing.

...

the fun side is that you get stuff like kind of Rossetti's Goblin Markets and, um, you know, We Dare Not Go Out Hunting for Fear of Little Men, which is appearing in a children's book of poetry.

These kind of dark, nasty fairies in children's literature.

The reason why people think that they were appropriate for children's literature is because with this idea of kind of ancient pagan barbarism comes this idea that, like, the ancient races and races that aren't white Victorian men are less than and so childish.

I would say Ash is l- is Browning plus Tennyson plus Wordsworth [laughs] just, just putting them all in one person.

And Christabel, by the way, is supposed to be the person who wrote Goblin Market.

Christina Rossetti, yeah.

Yeah.

Which Goblin Market-

What is the poem?

...

I have not thought about since one of my like, s- since one of my English, uh, degree intro classes, we read Goblin Market.