A Prodigal Son.
Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, Which he kindled the night I went away? I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, And marked it gleam with a golden ray; Did he think to light me home some day? Hungry here with the crunching swine, Hungry harvest have I to reap; In a dream I count my Father's kine, I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep, I watch his lambs that browse and leap. There is plenty of bread at home, His servants have bread enough and to spare; The purple wine-fat froths with foam, Oil and spices make sweet the air, While I perish hungry and bare. Rich and blessed those servants, rather Than I who see not my Father's face! I will arise and go to my Father: - "Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, Grant me, Father, a servant's place."
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"Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house,..."
"A Prodigal Son." is a quintessential example of Christina Georgina Rossetti's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...