Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830–1894)

TO come back from the sweet South, to the North

Where I was born, bred, look to die;

Come back to do my day’s work in its day,

Play out my play—

Amen, amen, say I.

To see no more the country half my own,

Nor hear the half familiar speech,

Amen, I say; I turn to that bleak North

Whence I came forth—

The South lies out of reach.

But when our swallows fly back to the South,

To the sweet South, to the sweet South,

The tears may come again into my eyes

On the old wise,

And the sweet name to my mouth.