As in the dusty lane to fern or flower, <br />Whose freshness in hot noon is dried and dead, <br />Sweet comes the dark with a full--falling shower, <br />And again breathes the new--washed, happy head: <br /> <br />So when the thronged world round my spirit hums, <br />And soils my purer sense, and dims my eyes, <br />So grateful to my heart the evening comes, <br />Unburdening its still rain of memories. <br /> <br />Then in the deep and solitary night <br />I feel the freshness of your absent grace, <br />Sweetening the air, and know again the light <br />Of your loved presence, musing on your face, <br /> <br />Until I see its image, clear and whole, <br />Shining above me, and sleep takes my soul.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-in-the-dusty-lane-to-fern-or-flower-2/
