Christina Georgina Rossetti At Home When I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much frequented house: I passed the door, and saw my friends Feasting beneath green orange boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; They sang, they jested, and they laughed, For each was loved of each. I listened to their honest chat: Said one: "Tomorrow we shall be Plod plod along the featureless sands And coasting miles and miles of sea." Said one: "Before the turn of tide We will achieve the eyrie-seat." Said one: "Tomorrow shall be like Today, but much more sweet." "Tomorrow," said they, strong with hope, And dwelt upon the pleasant way: "Tomorrow," cried they one and all, While no one spoke of yesterday. Their life stood full at blessed noon; I, only I, had passed away: "Tomorrow and today," they cried; I was of yesterday. I shivered comfortless, but cast No chill across the tablecloth; I all-forgotten shivered, sad To stay and yet to part how loth: I passed from the familiar room, I who from love had passed away, Like the remembrance of a guest That tarrieth but a day. __________________________________________________________________________________________ К списку авторов К списку произведений