Home

I dream again I 'm in the lane     That leads me home through night and rain;     Again the fence I see and, dense,     The garden, wet and sweet of sense;     Then mother's window, with its starry line     Of light, o'ergrown with rose and trumpetvine.     What was 't I heard? Her voice? A bird?     Singing? Or was 't the rain that stirred     The dripping leaves and draining eaves     Of shed and barn, one scarce perceives     Past garden-beds where oldtime flowers hang wet     Pale phlox and candytuft and mignonette.     The hour is late. I can not wait.     Quick. Let me hurry to the gate!     Upon the roof the rain is proof     Against my horse's galloping hoof;     And if the old gate, with its weight and chain,     Should creak, she 'll think it just the wind and rain.     Along I 'll steal, with cautious heel,     And at the lamplit window kneel:     And there she 'll sit and rock and knit,     While on her face the light will flit,     As I have seen her, many a night and day,     Dreaming of home that is so far away.     Upon the pane, dim, blurred with rain,     I 'll knock and call out, "Home again!"     And at a stride fling warm and wide     The door and catch her to my side     Mother! as once I clasped her when a boy,     Sobbing my heart out on her breast for joy!