The world is cold and gray and wet,
And I am heavy-hearted, yet
When I am home and look to see
The place my letters wait for me,
If I should find one letter there,
I think I should not greatly care
If it were rainy or were fair,
For all the world would suddenly
Seem like a festival to me.
I hid three words within my heart,
That longed to fly to him,
At dawn they woke me with a start,
They sang till day was dim.
And now at last I let them fly,
As little birds should do,
And he will know the first is "I,"
The others "Love" and "You."
Across the twilight's violet
His curtained window glimmers gold;
Oh happy light that round my love
Oh happy book within his hand,
Oh happy page he glorifies,
Oh happy little word beneath