I learned — at least — what Home could be —
How ignorant I had been
Of pretty ways of Covenant —
How awkward at the Hymn
Round our new Fireside — but for this —
This pattern — of the Way —
Whose Memory drowns me, like the Dip
Of a Celestial Sea —
What Mornings in our Garden — guessed —
What Bees — for us — to hum —
With only Birds to interrupt
The Ripple of our Theme —
And Task for Both —
When Play be done —
Your Problem — of the Brain —
And mine — some foolisher effect —
A Ruffle — or a Tune —
The Afternoons — Together spent —
And Twilight — in the Lanes —
Some ministry to poorer lives —
Seen poorest — thro' our gains —
And then Return — and Night — and Home —
And then away to You to pass —
A new — diviner — care —
Till Sunrise take us back to Scene —
Transmuted — Vivider —
This seems a Home —
And Home is not —
But what that Place could be —
Afflicts me — as a Setting Sun —
Where Dawn — knows how to be —