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.


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