WHEN I returned to my poor house,
As well I knew I must,
The thatch was rotting in the rain,
The latch was stiff with rust,
And little forest creatures’ feet
Had written in the dust.
Strange thing! In that poor house of mine —
Unlit this year or more —
Where I had dread to live alone,
There met me at the door
That unforgotten dream of mine
I used to dream before!