When She Comes Home

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—soulsight, 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.

Collection: 
English
1869
James Whitcomb Riley

More from Poet

  • Griggsby’s Station

    Pap’s got his patent right, and rich as all creation; But where ’s the peace and comfort that we all had before? Le’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s Station— Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! The likes of us a-livin’ here! It ’s just a mortal pity To see us in this great big...

  • The Old Man and Jim

    Old man never had much to say— ’Ceptin’ to Jim,— And Jim was the wildest boy he had, And the old man jes’ wrapped up in him! Never heerd him speak but once Er twice in my life,—and first time was When the army broke out, and Jim he went, The old man backin’ him, fer three months; And all ’at...

  • The First Blue-Bird

    Jest rain and snow! and rain again! And dribble! drip! and blow! Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then— Some more rain and snow! This morning I was ’most afeard To wake up—when, I jing! I seen the sun shine out and heerd The first blue-bird of Spring!— Mother she ’d raised the winder...

  • “When the frost is on the punkin”

    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder ’s in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock, And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens, And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; O it ’s then ’s the times a feller is a-feelin...

  • “Knee-deep in June”

    I. tell you what I like the best— ’Long about knee-deep in June, ’Bout the time strawberries melts On the vines—some afternoon Like to jes’ git out and rest, And not work at nothin’ else! II. Orchard’s where I’ ruther be— Needn’t fence it in for me! Jes’ the whole sky overhead...