Classic Poem

Come back and bring the summer in your eyes,
The peace of evening in your quiet ways;
Come back and lead again to Paradise
The errant days!

Of old I saw the sunlight on the corn,
The wind-blown ripple running on the wheat;
But now the ways are shabby and forlorn
That knew your feet.

Forget the words meant only by my lips!
Could you not understand
The silent language of my finger-tips
When last you took my hand?