The Window on the Hill, by Madison Cawein

  Among the fields the camomile
  Seems blown mist in the lightning's glare:
  Cool, rainy odors drench the air;
  Night speaks above; the angry smile
  Of storm within her stare.

  The way that I shall take to-night
  Is through the wood whose branches fill
  The road with double darkness, till,
  Between the boughs, a window's light
  Shines out upon the hill.

  The fence; and then the path that goes
  Around a trailer-tangled rock,
  Through puckered pink and hollyhock,
  Unto a latch-gate's unkempt rose,
  And door whereat I knock.

  Bright on the oldtime flower place
  The lamp streams through the foggy pane;
  The door is opened to the rain:
  And in the door—her happy face
  And outstretched arms again.