You Home-Folks:—Aid your grateful guest—
Bear with his pondering, wandering ways:
When idlest he is busiest,
Being a dreamer of the days.

Humor his silent, absent moods—
His restless quests along the shores
Of the old creek, wound through the woods,
The haws, papaws, and sycamores:

The side-path home—the back-way past
The old pump and the dipper there;
The afternoon of dreamy June—
The old porch, and the rocking-chair.

Yea, bear with him a little space—
His heart must smolder on a while
Ere yet it flames out in his face
A wholly tearless smile.