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XLIX

When I am home from travel,

My eager foot will stay not

Until I reach the threshold

Where I went forth from thee.

And there, as darkness gathers 5

In the rose-scented garden,

The god who prospers music

Shall give me skill to play.

And thou shalt hear, all startled,

A flute blown in the twilight, 10

With the soft pleading magic

The green wood heard of old.

Then, lamp in hand, thy beauty

In the rose-marble entry!

And unreluctant Hermes 15

Shall give me words to say.