WHEN I was dead, my spirit turned 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." AT HOME. Said one: "Before the turn of tide "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 To stay and yet to part how loth: 133 Christina Rossetti. THE grey sea and the long black land; Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; Than the two hearts beating each to each! Robert Browning. REMEMBER me when I am gone away, When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor wholly in the busy world, nor quite A league of grass, washed by a slow broad stream, The fields between Are dewy fresh, browsed by deep-udder'd kine, The lime a summer home of murmurous wings. |