Classic Poem

When peace has come, and I return from France,
I know the places that I'll long to see:
Those hunch-backed hills so full of old romance,
Where first frail Beauty's visions dawned for me,
And April comes, swift, dancing like a girl,
With golden tresses flowing in the breeze,
And where swart, autumn leaves disport and whirl,
In maudlin dance beneath the naked trees.

And I shall see the cottage on the hill,
With all the loveliness of summer days,
Whose memories to me are haunted still
By love's sweet voice, the witchery of her ways.
And I shall climb the path and ope the gate,
When peace has come, if peace comes not too late.