He has come, he is here, My love has come home, The minutes are lighter Than flying foam, The hours are like dancers On gold-slippered feet, The days are young runners Naked and fleet. For my love has returned, He is home, he is here, In the whole world no other Is dear as my dear!
Rate this Poem:
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; There Will Come Soft Rains