Poems (Rossetti, 1901)/At Home

by 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: "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.