“Oh, there is light, at the feet and head
Twelve tall tapers about the bed.
“Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare,
But not the garland a bride may wear.
“Jasmine white and a white white rose,
But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes.
“Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier—
But the room is empty—she is not here!
“Her body lies here, deserted, cold;
And the body that loved it creeps in the mould.
“Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free,
Would not have hastened and come to me?
“Can the soul that loved mine long ago
Be hence and away, and I not know?
“Oh, then God’s judgment is on me sore,
For I have lost her for evermore!”
And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain
To its own appointed place again.
** * * *
But up in Heaven, where memories cease
Because the blessed have won to peace,