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.