Classic Poem

I am walking home to my belovèd.
But is my belovèd anywhere?
Were all my memories of love's secureness
Only a dream of air?

And what is distance's annihilation?
And what are steps, or what is any gesture?
Nothing gives answer, while the lake and shore
Put on their evening vesture.

Now on a curve of the shore mass giant buildings
Looming against the darkness wall on wall.
Glittering unrevealing lights bestud them,
Far and impersonal.

Nearer. Nearer. Now the lights are windows—
Toy windows with toy images they are.
How can she be among those myriad puppets,
Impersonal and far!

Now the windows with the lights grow larger,
Larger, human the shapes within—yet these
Still daze a lonely walker with their numbers
And unrealities
. . . . . . . . . . .

She is real, she is warm, she is in my arms at last,
Safe from uncertainties of dark and space.
Once more I know life's heavenliest proportion,—
One house, one room, one face!