That I can feel, not see, the dimpled cheek,
The lips, the eyes, the sunbeams that enfold
Her locks of gold?
III.
Have I not sworn that I will not be wed,
But mate my soul with hers on my death-bed?
The soul can see,—for souls are seraphim,—
When eyes are dim.
IV.
Oh, hush! she comes. I know her. She is nigh.