Oh, I am going home again, Back to the old house in the lane, And mother! who still sits and sew… With cheeks, each one, a winter ro… A-watching for her boy, you know,

What would it mean for you and me If dawn should come no more! Think of its gold along the sea, Its rose above the shore! That rose of awful mystery,

He was a boy, sun-burned and brown… And she a girl from a neighboring… Dark were her eyes and dark her ha… And her cheeks as red as the ripe… Dainty and sweet, with a far-away

HE found the long room as it was… Glimmering with sunset’s gold; That made the tapestries seem full… Strange with a wild surmise: Glaring upon a Psyche where she s…

Deep in her broom-sedge, burs and… Her frost-slain asters and dead ma… Where gray the wilding clematis ba… The brake with puff-balls: where t… Her sombre steps: decked with the…

How fancy romped and played here, Building this house of moss! A faery house, the shade here And sunlight gleam across; And how it danced and swayed here,

Far in the purple valleys of illus… I see her waiting, like the soul o… With deep eyes, lovelier than ceru… Shadow and fire, yet merciless as… With red lips, sweeter than Arabi…

With moon-white hearts that held a… I gathered wild-flowers in a dream… And shaped a woman, whose sweet bl… Was odour of the wildwood bud. From dew, the starlight arrowed th…

Deep in the wood of willow-trees The summer sounds and whispering b… Bound me as if with glimmering arm… And spells of witchcraft, sorcerie… That filled the wood with phantom…

O heart,-that beat the bird’s blit… The blithe bird’s strain, and unde… The song it sang to leaf and bud,- What dost thou in the wood? O soul,-that kept the brook’s glad…

When from the tower, like some swe… The bell drops petals of the hour, That says the world is homing, My heart puts off its garb of care And clothes itself in gold and vai…

Youth, with an arrogant air, Passes me by: Age, on his tottering staff, Stops with a sigh. ‘Here is a flower, ’he says,

Like colored lanterns swung in El… Wild morning-glories light the tan… And, like the rosy rockets of the… Burns the sloped crimson of the ca…

‘These winter days,’ my father say… ‘When mornings blow and bite and f… And hens sit cackling in the straw… Stiff with the frost as gates that… Remind me of my youth when, raw,

No more to strip the roses from The rose-boughs of her porch’s pla… I dreamed last night that I was h… Beside a rose her face. I must have smiled in sleep who kn…