Something this foggy day, a something which
Is neither of this fog nor of today,
Has set me dreaming of the winds that play
Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach,
And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray:
Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away,
So out of reach while quite within my reach,
As out of reach as India or Cathay!
I am sick of where I am and where I am not,
I am sick of foresight and of memory,
I am sick of all I have and all I see,
I am sick of self, and there is nothing new;
Oh weary impatient patience of my lot!
Thus with myself: how fares it, Friends, with you?
(Christina Rossetti)
More Poetry from Christina Rossetti:
Christina Rossetti Poems based on Topics: Friendship, Self, Memory- A Better Ressurection (Christina Rossetti Poems)
- At Home (Christina Rossetti Poems)
- The Three Enemies (Christina Rossetti Poems)
- No, Thank You John (Christina Rossetti Poems)
- Before The Paling Of The Stars (Christina Rossetti Poems)
- Maude Clare (Christina Rossetti Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Friendship Poems, Memory Poems, Self PoemsBased on Keywords: fares, foresight, pebbly, cathay, foggy