Robert Service

They turned him loose, he bowed his had,
   A felon, bent and gray.
His face was even as the Dead,
   He had no word to say.

He sought the home of his old love,
   To look on her once more;
And where her roses breathed above,
   He cowered behind the door.

She sat there in the shining room;
   Her hair was silver gray.
He stared and stared from out the gloom;
   He turned to go away.

Her roses rustled overhead.
   She saw with sudden start.
“I knew that you would come,” she said,
   And held him to her heart.

Her face was rapt and angel-sweet;
   She touched his hair of gray;
.	.	.	.	.
But he, sob-shaken, at her feet,
   Could only pray and pray.