The birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
A Birthday, st. 2.
When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget.
Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
Remember, l. 13-14.
For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.
In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago.
Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over, Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past, Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover, Sleeping at last.
Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth, Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth, Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white, Love is like a lovely rose, the world’s delight. Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth, But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.
Hope is like a Harebell; reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
All earth’s full rivers can not fill The sea that drinking thirsteth still.
By the Sea; reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919); Old and New, Volume 5 (1872), p. 169.
One day in the country Is worth a month in town.
Summer; reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
Silence more musical than any song.
Sonnet. Rest; reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
Oh Lord, make thy law, I entreat thee, our delight.
(Another story inspired by a previous story was "Pico Rico Mandorico," the story of two sisters who escape the power of a devil figure. Wasn't that influenced by Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market"?) Yes, in fact my story is a prose rendition of the poem. I said so in the introduction to Sonatinas, the book in Spanish…I liked it so much I said, "I want to do my own version of this"... Writing is a lot like sewing: You bring pieces together and make a quilt. What brought me to Rossetti's story was a dirge, a little ditty called "Pico Rico Mandorico/Quién te dio tamaño pico?" ["Pico Rico, far and wide/leaves a mark where others hide"]. In this nursery rhyme there is a man dressed in black who comes to the house of a little girl. It's always on Sundays-that's very important. He has a very long nose and he spills everything on the table, so they have to cut off his nose. The man is really a devil, and he wants to steal the little girl and take her away with him. The Christina Rossetti story reminded me of the nursery rhyme, and I made a quilt of both.
Rosario Ferré interview in Backtalk: Women Writers Speak Out by Donna Marie Perry (1993)