AT HOME
by: Christina Rossetti
(1830-1894)
- HEN 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: 'To-morrow 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: 'To-morrow shall be like
- To-day, but much more sweet.'
-
- 'To-morrow,' said they, strong with hope,
- And dwelt upon the pleasant way:
- 'To-morrow,' cried they one and all,
- While no one spoke of yesterday.
- Their life stood full at blessed noon;
- I, only I, had passed away:
- 'To-morrow and to-day,' 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.
"At Home" is reprinted
from Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems.
Christina Rosetti. London: Macmillan 1879. |
MORE POEMS BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI |
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