| |
| WHEN I was dead, my spirit turn’d | |
| To seek the much-frequented house: | |
| I pass’d the door, and saw my friends | |
| Feasting beneath green orange-boughs; | |
| From hand to hand they push’d the wine, | 5 |
| They suck’d the pulp of plum and peach; | |
| They sang, they jested, and they laugh’d | |
| For each was lov’d of each. | |
| |
| I listen’d to their honest chat: | |
| Said one: “To-morrow we shall be | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
| Their life stood full at blessed noon; | |
| I, only I, had pass’d away: | |
| “To-morrow and to-day,” they cried; | |
| I was of yesterday. | |
| |
| I shiver’d comfortless, but cast | 25 |
| No chill across the table-cloth; | |
| I, all forgotten, shiver’d, sad | |
| To stay, and yet to part how loth: | |
| I pass’d from the familiar room, | |
| I who from love had pass’d away. | 30 |
| Like the remembrance of a guest | |
| That tarrieth but a day. | |
| |
