IF through the rain and wind along the street,
Where the wet stone reflects the flickering gas,
Some weeping autumn night your wandering feet,
Lost in a lonely world, should chance to pass;
If, passing many doors that welcomed you
When robes of good renown your dear name wore,
Your feet again, as once they used to do,
Paused at my door,–
Should I shut fast my heart for the old ill,
The old wrong done, the sorrow and the sin?
Or–only knowing that I love you still–
Should I throw wide the door and let you in?
Come–with your sins–my tears shall wash them all,
The heart you broke still waits to be your home.
Yet if you came. . . . Oh! lost beyond recall
You never more will come.
(Edith Nesbit)
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