THE PASSING
It was the hour of dawn,
When the heart beats thin and small,
The window glimmered grey,
Framed in a shadow wall.
And in the cold sad light
Of the early morningtide,
The dear dead girl came back
And stood by his bedside.
The girl he lost came back:
He saw her flowing hair;
It flickered and it waved
Like a breath in frosty air.
As in a steamy glass,
Her face was dim and blurred;
Her voice was sweet and thin,
Like the calling of a bird.
‘You said that you would come,
You promised not to stay;
And I have waited here,
To help you on the way.
‘I have waited on,
But still you bide below;
You said that you would come,
And oh, I want you so!
‘For half my soul is here,
And half my soul is there,
When you are on the earth
And I am in the air.
‘But on your dressing-stand
There lies a triple key;
Unlock the little gate
Which fences you from me.
‘Just one little pang,
Just one throb of pain,
And then your weary head
Between my breasts again.’