Classic Poem

Mother Dear, I do not leave
Old love for a new:
This is older far than all,
If the stars be true.

When I answered to his look,
A little moon ago,
Ah, that early greeting woke
All I used to know!

Then I heard the Deep call
Round about our mirth;
Then I felt the Garden breath,
Older than the earth.

So we walked together once,—
Brow and brow as near,
Shining with the dew from off
Trees that held us dear.

Oh, it is no gypsy-light,
Bids me forth, to roam!—
But my own star in his eyes,
Wanting me at home!