My cottage home is fill’d with light
The long, long summer day,
But, ah! I dearer love the night.
And hail the sinking ray.
For eve restores me one whose smile
Doth more than morning’s match,—
And life afresh seems dawning while
His hand is on the latch!
When autumn fields are thick with sheaves
And shadows earlier fall,
And grapes grow purple ’neath the eaves
Along our trellis’d wall,—
I dreaming sit,—the sleepy bird
Faint twittering in the thatch,—
To wake to joy when soft is heard
His hand upon the latch!
In the short winter afternoon
I throw my work aside,
And through the lattice, whilst the moon
Shines mistily and wide,
On the dim upland paths I peer
In vain his form to catch,—
I startle with delight, and hear
His hand upon the latch!
Yes; I am his in storm and shine;
For me he toils all day;
And his true heart I know is mine,
Both near me and away.
And when he leaves our garden gate
At morn, his steps I watch,—
Then patiently till eve await
His hand upon the latch!