The Wanderer

Love comes back to his vacant dwelling, —
The old, old Love that we knew of yore!
We see him stand by the open door,
With his great eyes — sad, and his bosom swelling,
He makes as though in our arms repelling,
He fain would lie as he lay before; —
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling, —
The old, old Love that we knew of yore!

Ah, who shall help us from over-spelling
That sweet forgotten, forbidden lore!
E'en as we doubt in our heart once more,
With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling,
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling.