Page:Themes and variations (IA themesvariations00wils).pdf/81

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At Home.
69
Still half the fields return the sun,
Still laughs the running wheat:
The bird sings on,—one sheet of fame!
And now the thunders meet.

But up within the turret-room
How still it is, how warm!
Shut, like the water-lily’s cup
That closes in the storm.

A kitten coiled upon the chair,
A half-wrought broidery,
Books on the wall—and passing dreams,
Perchance a dream of me!

You hear no knock, no creaking door,
No foot upon the stair,
But love has stolen the key of thought,
Before you know he’s there.