Explore "After Death" by Christina Georgina Rossetti on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Sonnet.
The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept / And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may / Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, / Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. / He leaned above me, thinking that I slept / And could not hear him; but I heard him say: / "Poor child, poor child": and as he turned away / Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. / He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold / That hid my face, or take my hand in his, / Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: / He did not love me living; but once dead / He pitied me; and very sweet it is / To know he still is warm though I am cold.