When you come in, it seems a brighter fire
Crackles upon the hearth invitingly,
The household routine which was wont to tire ,
Grows full of novelty.
You sit upon our home-upholstered chair
And talk of matters wonderful and strange,
Of books, and travel, customs old which dare
The gods of Time and Change.
Till we with inner word our care refute
Laughing that this our bosoms yet assails,
While there are maidens dancing to a flute
In Andalusian vales.
And sometimes from my shelf of poems you take
And secret meanings to our hearts disclose,
As when the winds of June the mid bush shake
We see the hidden rose.
And when the shadows muster, and each tree
A moment flutters, full of shutting wings,
You take the fiddle and mysteriously
Wake wonders on the strings.
And in my garden, grey with misty flowers,
Low echoes fainter than a beetle’s horn
Fill all the corners with it, like sweet showers
Of bells, in the owl’s morn.
Come often, friend, with welcome and surprise
We’ll greet you from the sea or from the town;
Come when you like and from whatever skies
Above you smile or frown.
by Francis Ledwidge