Xlix

When I am home from travel, My eager foot will stay not Until I reach the threshold Where I went forth from thee.

And there, as darkness gathers In the rose-scented garden, The god who prospers music Shall give me skill to play.

And thou shalt hear, all startled, A flute blown in the twilight, With the soft pleading magic The green wood heard of old.

Then, lamp in hand, thy beauty In the rose-marble entry! And unreluctant Hermes Shall give me words to say.