Homecoming

The branches sway more gently,

the boat flies toward the shore;

home to its nest turns the dove,

home to you turns my heart.

It has wandered enough on shimmering days,

when life clamored

and with beating wings

it keenly explored foreign lands.

But now the sun has departed,

and silence sinks down upon the grove.

My heart feels this: with you is peace,

with you alone is rest.