Upon a Time

If ever the sweet spring comes,

     I’ll put aside these dead books

And try to feel the herbage freshen

     Along the withered boughs of old dry thoughts.

I’ll walk out somewhere where a garden grows,

     And there I’ll stand some summer evening,

Hat beside elbows on the gray stone wall,

     And the wind will stir, coming from behind the hill.

Afterward I’ll walk home, hands behind me,

     And pause a moment before going in,

Half fancying some one has called my name,

     Or been awakened to a flutter as I passed.

Of course, I’ll enter, but leave the door ajar,

     For someone might come in, you know,

Expectantly I’ll sit to fancy the long evening through

     That a pair of eyes in the summer night

Might light a candle in the dull world,

     So softly that none might see to smile at,

Yet ardently enough—like a vestal candle burning—

     For a little heat in a cold house.