Explore "The Return" by Theodosia Pickrering Garrison on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I come to you grown weary of much laughter, / From jangling mirth that once seemed over-sweet, / From all the mocking ghosts that follow after / A man's returning feet; / Give me no word of welcome or of greeting / Only in silence let me enter in, / Only in silence when our eyes are meeting, / Absolve me of my sin.
I come to you grown weary of much living, / Open your door and lift me of your grace, / I ask for no compassion, no forgiving, / Only your face, your face; / Only in that white peace that is your dwelling / To come again, before your feet to sink, / And of your quiet as of wine compelling / Drink as the thirsting drink.
Be kind to me as sleep is kind that closes / With tender hands men's fever-wearied eyes, / Your arms are as a garden of white roses / Where old remembrance lies, / I, who am bruised with words and pierced with chiding, / Give me your silence as a Saint might give / Her white cloak for some hunted creature's hiding, / That he might rest and live.