IV
Our dust shall be warmed by the sun, dear one,
Our grief shall fade with the snow;
And mingled in spring by sun and rain
Our love to a flower blow.
V
Oh, is there room at your feet, dear one?
And is there room at your side?
And can you hear the sound of my breath
And sorrow that cries like a tide?
LOST LOVE
You have her mouth of grief,—
Your parted lips half-shape a moan;
You have her brow branded with memory;
You have her downcast eyes
Brooding like doves above the body’s need;
You have her heart of love
Where music flows
And sorrows nurse.
O Voice of all lost love and agony,
Cecilia, Saint,
We beg the healing of your breast,
Music at our lips
And sleep!