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James Whitcomb Riley - When She Comes Home
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When she comes home again! A thousand ways
  I fashion, to myself, the tenderness
  Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble--yes;
And touch her, as when first in the old days
I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise
  Mine eyes, such was my faint heart`s sweet distress.
  Then silence: And the perfume of her dress:
The room will sway a little, and a haze
  Cloy eyesight--soulsight, even--for a space:
And tears--yes; and the ache here in the throat,
  To know that I so ill deserve the place
Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note
  I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face
  Again is hidden in the old embrace.
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