Home of my heart, when wilt thou ope
Thy silent doors to let me in?
What! not one glimpse to quicken hope
Of all that I aspire to win?

So near, and yet so oft denied!
The roses on my trellis throw
Their heedless scent from side to side,
Yet will not whisper what they know.

The yellow moon that hangs and peers
Amid the icy horns on high
Leans to the list'ning earth, yet fears
To tell the secret of the sky.

O pines that whisper in the wind,
When ling'ring herds from pasture come,
Breathe somewhat of your steadfast mind,
The hour is yours, yet ye are dumb.

Sweet answering eyes, you too have learned
The secret that you will not tell.
I should have known it, but you turned
That moment, and the lashes fell.

Home of my heart, why stand so cold
And silent? there is mirth within:
The sun sinks low, the day is old,
O let the baffled wand'rer in!