Goblin Market, and other poems, by Christina 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: ‘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 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.


Last updated Thursday, March 6, 2014 at 15:33