He came in the sea-drift and rain,
His eyes held a passionate pain,
The night-dew lay damp on his hair:
I knew not the face nor the form,
The voice of undying despair
That craved for a rest from the storm.
I opened my door straight and wide,
And beckoned him safe to my side.

He nestled anear me: each day
Brought a gladder, new sense of dismay
As closer he crept to my heart,
This outcast who came with the wind.
I never dared bid him depart,
For I knew there would linger behind
Grave sorrow, unending regret,
For something too fond to forget.

One morning I rose unaware,
And stole up my heart's secret stair;
And gazed through the half-open door:
My guest was asleep on a throne,
A dread quiver lay on the floor,
And I knew it was Love, who alone
Had braved all the tempest's mad strife,
To teach me the glory of Life.