I could welcome them, Father, gladly as ever a child
Laying his head on the pillow might turn to his rest
And remember in dreams, as the hand of the mother is prest
On his hair, how the Pitiful blessed him of old and smiled.
LOVE'S GHOST
I
Thy house is dark and still: I stand once more
Beside the marble door.
It opens as of old: thy pale, pale face
Peers thro' the narrow space:
Thy hands are mine, thy hands are mine to hold,
Just as of old.
II
"Hush! hush! or God will hear us! Ah, speak low
As Love spake long ago."
"Sweet, sweet, are these thine arms, thy breast, thy hair
Assuaging my despair,
Assuaging the long thirst, quenching the tears
Of all these years?
III
"Thy house is deep and still: God cannot hear;
Sweet, have no fear!
Are not thy cold lips crushed against my kiss?
Love gives us this,
Not God;" but "Ah," she moans, "God hears us; speak,
Speak low, hide cheek on cheek."
IV