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-

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-