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Under the brown bird-haunted eaves of thatch

The hollyhocks in crimson glory burned

Against black timbers and old rosy brick,

And over the green door in clusters thick

Hung tangled passion-flowers, when we returned

To our own threshold: and with hand on latch

We stood a moment in the sunset gleam

And looked upon our home as in a dream.

Rapt in a golden glow of still delight

Together on the threshold in the sun

We stood rejoicing that we two had won

To this deep golden peace ere day was done,

That over gloomy plain and storm-swept height

We two, O love, had won to home ere night.