By R. W. Service.
They turned him loose; he bowed his head,
A felon bent and gray.
His face was even as the dead,
He had no word to say.
He sought the home of his old love,
To look on her once more;
And where her roses breathed above
He cowered beside the door.
She sat there in the shining room;
Her hair was silver gray;
He stared and stared from out the gloom;
He turned to go away.
Her roses rusted overhead
She saw with sudden start,
“I knew that you would come,” she said,
And had him to her heart.