When I am home from travel,
1
My eager foot will stay not
Until I reach the threshold
Where I went forth from thee.
And there as darkness gathers
5
In the rose-scented garden
The god who prospers music
Shall give me skill to play.
And thou shalt hear, all startled,
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A flute blown in the twilight
With the soft pleading magic
The green wood heard of old.
Then, lamp in hand, thy beauty
13
In the rose-marble entry!
Shall give me words to say.