At Waking
WHEN I shall go to sleep and wake again
At dawning in another world than this,
What will atone to me for all I miss?
The light melodious footsteps of the rain,
The press of leaves against my window-pane,
The sunset wistfulness and morning bliss,
The moon’s enchantment, and the twilight kiss
Of winds that wander with me through the lane.
Will not my soul remember evermore
The earthly winter’s hunger for the spring,
The wet sweet cheek of April, and the rush
Of roses through the summer’s open door;
The feelings that the scented woodlands bring
At evening with the singing of the thrush?
