Pic from here
I have been here before,
but when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
the sweet keen smell,
the sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,
how long ago I may not know:
but just when at that swallow’s soar
your neck turned so,
some veil did fall,
I knew it all of yore.
Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
still with our lives our love restore
in death’s despite,
and day and night yield one delight once more?
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
I always considered Rossetti and the Pre-Raphaelite authors something like too much sentimental, romantic like, decadent.
Some days ago a friend told me more about them and I needed to know more abou them.
Well, I like these words much more than his paintings.
That friend said me that she finds something similar in my words and in Pre-Raphaelite ones: I am so proud for that, even if I think I am really so far from any real poet… Indeed, the idea to put into poetic stuff spiritual contents is what I try when i describes what i see or what i feel.
And now I am looking for other Rossetti’s words.