From the plane-tree’s windless leaves1
Breathes the wood-dove’s amorous moan ;2
Round about the cottage eaves3
Hangs the rosebush, over-blown.4
Meadows dip to where the stream,5
Murmuring of the far, blue sea,6
Moves, as in a flower-sweet dream,7
By the home that waits for me.8
And I know one heart beats high9
With this joy that gladdens mine,10
Underneath that northern sky,11
Waiting in her trust divine.12
Singing in the sun, sits she,13
And her eyes are blue and blithe,14
And the maid-child on her knee15
Laughs to hear the sweeping scythe.16
Seems it, even now, I feel17
The hay-sweet scent of English air,18
And the slumberous, old mill-wheel19
Murmuring ‘ peace and plenty’ there.20
Blow, blow northward, eager gale,21
Though thou rouse the billowing sea ;22
Whisper in the bending sail,23
Of the love that waits for me.24
By Egyptian sand and palm,25
By the pillared fanes of Greece ;26
High amid this cloudless calm,27
Sleeping in their dreamless peace,28
Drifting, I am longing sore29
For the last glad league of sea,30
For the roses by the door,31
And the welcome kept for me.32