The Visitor

THE calm house with the key left in the door,
The table where these fruits sweet to the core
And the clear water-glass show side by side
In the deep ebony; two roads that glide
Towards the horizon shortened by the hills
That dam the sea; so that as clear as rills,
That know not why, my simple laughter rings,
Even as they laugh who never other things
Have sought, except the fountain blue among
High roses, and with grapes their trellis hung,
And in the evening of their life both joy
And melancholy, days that do not cloy
Though each is like to each as glove to glove:
This knew I when thou camest in to me, Love
And didst with woman's mouth bite my ripe fruit,
And drink my water cool from the tree's root,
And, sitting down, didst fold thy wings divine
Over the stones of this fireside of mine.