I think if I should cross the room,
Far as fear;
Should stand beside you like a thought—
Touch you, Dear!
Like a fancy. To your sad heart
It would seem
That my vision passed and prayed you,
Or my dream.
Then you would look with lonely eyes—
Lift your head—
And you would stir, and sigh, and say—
"She is dead."
Baffled by death and love, I lean
Through the gloom.
O Lord of life! am I forbid
To cross the room?
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS APART.
The shadows watch about the house;
Silent as they, I come.
Oh, it is true that life is deaf,
And not that death is dumb.
The Christmas thrill is on the earth,
The stars throb in the sky.
Love listens in a thousand homes,—
The Christmas bells ring by.
I cross the old familiar door
And take the dear old chair.
You look with desolated eyes
Upon me sitting there.
You gaze and see not, though the tears
In gazing burn and start.
Believe, the living are the blind,
Not that the dead depart.