  WHEN she comes home again! A thousand ways I fashion, to myself, the tenderness Of my glad welcome. I shall tremble—yes; And touch her, as when first in the old days I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise Mine eyes, such was my faint heart’s sweet distress. Then silence, and the perfume of her dress: The room will sway a little, and a haze Cloy eyesight—soul-sight, even—for a space: And tears—yes; and the ache here in the throat, To know that I so ill deserve the place Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face Again is hidden in the old embrace. |
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