I learned—at least—what Home could be

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 —