"In a fine country, in a sunny country,

Among the hills I knew,

I built a house for the wren that lives in the orchard,

And a house for you.

The house I built for the wren had a round entrance,

Neat and very small;

But the house I built for you had a great doorway,

For a lady proud and tall.

You came from a country where the shrubby sweet lavender

Lives the mild winter through;

The lavender died each winter in the garden

Of the house I built for you.

You were troubled and came to me because the farmer

Called the autumn "the fall";

You thought that a country where the lavender died in the winter

Was not a country at all.

The wrens return each year to the house in the orchard;

They have lived, they have seen the world, they know what's best

For a wren and his wife; in the handsome house I gave them

They build their twiggy nest.

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home

To a leaky castle across the sea,-

To lie awake in linen smelling of lavender

And hear the nightingale, and long for me."

- Edna St. Vincent Millay