Classic Poem

I COME from a long journey and a sore,
My feet are bleeding where the thorns have pressed,
Yet have I passed by many an open door —
(Only within your arms may I find rest.)

I come from sound of little souls at play,
From empty laughter that may never cease,
From joys grown hideous and mirth grown gray —
(Only within your arms may I find peace.)

I come a wanderer who naught may bring
Of any gladness from the road he went,
Save one sad heart that cries your comforting —
(Only within your arms is my content.)