(12 May 1828 – 9 April 1882 / London / England)

A Foretaste

AT length the then of my long hope was now;
Yet had my spirit an extreme unrest:
I knew the good from better was grown best
At length, but could not just as yet tell how.
So I lay straight along, and thrust my brow
Under the heights of grass. Hours struck. The West,
I knew, must be at change; but gazed not, lest
The heat against my naked face (no bough
For shade) should tease me mad, like poisoned spice.
I lay along, letting my whole self think,
Pressing my brow down that the thoughts might fix:
Just as a dicer who holds loaded dice,
Sure of his cast, keeps trifling with his drink
Ere he will throw, and still must taste and mix.

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Other poems of ROSSETTI (329)

Comments (7)

I have looked for some biographical or historical context which might illuminate why Mr. Rossetti might be lying in the grass, enjoying the confidence of a fulfilled hope like a gambler with a loaded dice, but I am coming up empty. Perhaps I should try a scholarly inquiry other than Google. A fine poem, nonetheless.
a foretaste of what? i think i follow this poem which seems to me accessible, but i don't know what he's waiting for. is that the point? if any of you who read this thinks you know, i'd appreciate you communicating with me. -glen kappy
A great poem. Thanks for it.
Beautiful writing.Thanks poet for this sharing.
AT length the then of my long hope was now; Yet had my spirit an extreme unrest: I knew the good from better was grown best At length, but could not just as yet tell how. Nice poem.....
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