The vines hold it close in their clinging arms;
The shadows creep there to stay;
And the wind goes calling through empty rooms
For those who have gone away.

But the roses against the window-pane
Are the roses I used to know;
And the rain on the roof still sings the song
It sang in the long ago,
When I lay me down to sleep in a bed
Little and white and low.

It is long since I bid it all good-bye,
With young light-hearted disdain;
I remember who stood at the door that day;
Her tears fell fast as the rain;
And I whistled a tune and waved my hand,
But never went back again.

Toll I have paid at the gates of the world,
The sand I know and the sea;
I have taken the wide and open road,
With steps unhindered and free;
Yet, like a bell ringing down in my heart,
My home is calling to me.




IN SOLITUDE