The Window On The Hill

Among the fields the camomile Seems blown mist in the lightning's glare: Cool, rainy odors drench the air; Night speaks above; the angry smile Of storm within her stare. The way that I shall take to-night Is through the wood whose branches fill The road with double darkness, till, Between the boughs, a window's light Shines out upon the hill. The fence; and then the path that goes Around a trailer-tangled rock, Through puckered pink and hollyhock, Unto a latch-gate's unkempt rose, And door whereat I knock. Bright on the oldtime flower place The lamp streams through the foggy pane; The door is opened to the rain: And in the door-her happy face And outstretched arms again.