Broad gold, the evening heavens glow,
The April air is cool and tender.
You should have come ten years ago,
And yet in welcome I surrender.
Come here, sit closer to me, look
With eyes that twinkle, mouth that purses,
Into the little blue-bound book
That hold my awkward childish verse.
Forgive me that I long forsook
Joy’s sunny paths, nor glance toward any;
Forgive me those whom I mistook
For you—alas, they were too many.
[1915]

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