"Come buy," call the goblins

I woke up this morning with six lines of verse in my head, from Christina Rossetti's 1859 poem "Goblin Market":

"We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?"

"Come buy," call the goblins

Hobbling down the glen.

Just those six lines, nothing else from the rather long narrative poem of which they are a part, but they've been running through my head all day. This sort of came out of left field. I own no books by or about Christina Rossetti, know essentially nothing about her, and had never read any of her work until a few days ago, when I somehow found myself reading "Goblin Market" online, with no clue how I had ended up there. I tried going through my browsing history and everything but still can't really retrace my steps. Then, a few days later, these six lines rather aggressively impose themselves on my consciousness.

I tend to assume that weird things like this are potentially meaningful. In this case, it seems like a warning -- if not for me personally, then perhaps for some of my readers -- and so I pass it on.