Unmindful of the roses,
Unmindful of the thorn,
A reaper tired reposes
Among his gathered corn:
So might I, till the morn!
Cold as the cold Decembers,
Past as the days that set,
While only one remembers
And all the rest forget, -
But one remembers yet.
Back to Christina Georgina Rossetti
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓
To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.