Pale as a petulant star,
She held up her face to his love;
Her spirit from his dwelt afar
As the sky from the sea is above.
Yet he gazed till her whiteness was rose,
Dawn bright with the morning above—
As the sea from the sky wakes and glows,
So his image was mirrored in love.
VII
To-Morrow
To-morrow and to-morrow—shall there be
Perchance a morrow when I may not see
Your face beside me any more? Ah, no!
My love, my love, I cannot let you go.
Like sun in Egypt, ever kind and fair,
My heart must wake at dawn and know you there—
No dread of day which holds a weeping rain,
No dread of chilly love and bitter pain,
But ever present, ever wise and true,
To-morrow and to-morrow holding you.