At Home

Recording by Leonard Wilson.

At Home, by Christina Rossetti.

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, 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.

End of At Home by Christina Rossetti.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

look at our apples russet and dun bob at our cherries

bite at our peaches citrons and dates grapes for the asking pears red with basking out of the sun plums on their twigs pluck them and sup them pomegranates figs good folks said lizzie mindful of jinny give me much and many held out her apron tossed them her penny nay take a seat with us honor and eat with us they answered grinning our feast is but beginning night yet is early warm and dew-purly wakeful and starry such fruits as these no man can carry half their bloom would fly half their dew would dry half their flavor would pass by sit down and feast with us be welcome guests with us cheer you and rest with us thank you said lissy but one waits at home alone for me so without further parleying if you will not sell me any of your fruits though much and many give me back my silver penny i tossed you for a fee they began to scratch their pates, no longer wagging, purring, but visibly demurring, grunting and snarling.

One called her proud, cross-grained, uncivil.

Their tones waxed loud, their looks were evil.

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XXI.

AT HOME by Christina Rossetti.

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, tomorrow we shall be plod, plod along the featureless sands and coasting miles and miles of sea.

Recording by Leonard Wilson.

At Home by Christina Rossetti.

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, tomorrow 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 airy seat.

I, all forgotten, shivered, sad to stay, and yet to part how loath.

I passed from the familiar room, I who from love had passed away, like the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but a day.

End of At Home by Christina Rossetti.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.