William Michael Rossetti
William Michael Rossetti (25 September 1829 – 5 February 1919) was an English writer and critic.
Born in London, he was a son of immigrant Italian scholar Gabriele Rossetti, and the brother of Maria Francesca Rossetti, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Christina Georgina Rossetti.
He was one of the seven founder members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in 1848, and became the ... more »
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William Michael Rossetti Poems
Her First Season
He gazed her over, from her eyebrows down Even to her feet: he gazed so with the good Undoubting faith of fools, much as who should
Mary rose up, as one in sleep might rise, And went to meet her brother's Friend: and they Who tarried with her said: 'she goes to pray
Fancies At Leisure - I
I. Noon Rest Following the river's course, We come to where the sedges plant
To The Castle Ramparts
The Castle is erect on the hill's top, To moulder there all day and night: it stands With the long shadow lying at its foot.
Fancies At Leisure - II
I. In Spring The sky is blue here, scarcely with a stain Of grey for clouds: here the young grasses gain
'The jewels of our father, with washed eyes Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are And, like a sister, am most loth to tell
Comments about William Michael Rossetti
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Her First Season
He gazed her over, from her eyebrows down
Even to her feet: he gazed so with the good
Undoubting faith of fools, much as who should
Accost God for a comrade. In the brown
Of all her curls he seemed to think the town
Would make an acquisition; but her hood
Was not the newest fashion, and his brood
Of lady-friends might scarce approve her gown.
If I did smile, 'twas faintly; for my cheeks
Burned, thinking she'd be shown up to be sold,
And cried about, in the thick jostling run
Of the loud world, till all the weary weeks
Should bring her back to herself and to ...