Expectant and waiting you muse

On the great rare thing which alone

To enhance your life you would choose:

The awakening of the stone

The deeps where yourself you would lose.

In the dusk of the shelves embossed

Shine the volumes in gold and browns

And you think of countries once crossed

Of pictures of shimmering gowns

Of the women that you have lost.

And it comes to you then at last—

And you rise for you are aware

Of a year in the far off past

With its wonder and fear and prayer.