Here, where I went in and out,

I no more may come and go.

This with sweetbriar fringed about

Is another's garden, so

His the master's foot to come

In each dear, remembered room.

Such a blank, forgetting face

The house turns that was my house,

Where I built a little space,

As the birds build in the boughs.

But the birds—the birds are gone

And the vernal days are done.

Forth I fare that once would stay.

I have neither walls nor roof,

Being a traveller, blithe and gay,

In a world that's weather-proof,

Where no rust eats in, no moth

Frets the sacred altar-cloth.

Open, skies, and let me through.

Here I struck no roots to be

Fearful of all winds that blew.

There I shall grow a tree, a tree

Where in calm and shining weather,

My birds and I shall be together.