Classic Poem

Dusk in the rain-soaked garden,
And dark the house within
A door creaked: someone was early
To watch the dawn begin
But he stole away like a thief
In the chilly, star-bright air:
Though the house was shuttered for slumber,
He had left one wakeful there.

Nothing moved in the garden.
Never a bird would sing,
Nor shake and scatter the dew from the boughs
With shy and startled wing.
But when that lover had passed the gate
A quavering thrush began . . .
" Come back; come back!" he shrilled to the heart
Of the passion-plighted man.