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Edith Nesbit - Surrender II
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THE wild wind wails in the poplar tree, 
                I sit here alone. 
O heart of my heart, come hither to me! 
Come to me straight over land and sea, 
                My soul--my own! 


Not now--the clock`s slow tick I hear, 
                And nothing more. 
The year is dying, the leaves are sere, 
No ghost of the beautiful young crowned year 
                Knocks at my door. 


But one of these nights, a wild, late night, 
                I, waiting within, 
Shall hear your hand on the latch--and spite 
Of prudence and folly and wrong and right, 
                I shall let you in.
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