Down home to-night the moonshine falls Across a hill with daisies pied,
The pear tree by the garden gate Beckons with white arms like a bride.
A savor as of trampled fern Along the whispering meadow stirs,
And, beacon of immortal love, A light is shining through the firs.
To my old gable window creeps The night wind with a sigh and song,
And, weaving ancient sorceries, Thereto the gleeful moonbeams throng Beside the open kitchen door My mother stands all lovingly,
And o'er the pathways of the dark She sends a yearning thought to me.
It seeks and finds my answering heart Which shall no more be
Until I reach her empty arms And lay my head upon her breast.
