V
Sometimes I hear her drifting feet
That seek from door to door,
Guided by star and blowing wind,
Dream-shod forevermore.
VI
When will she come again to me
Led by the wind and star?
She need not even call my name,
I could not wander far.
VII
Two candles place I at her feet,
Two candles at her head:
Remembrance and Oblivion
Enfold my lonely dead.
ROSY MILLER
I do not ever remember having seen Rosy Miller;
I never met her;
Yet lose her I never can.
One night at dusk she came down a hill with me,
And the stars glowed
And all the college buildings were laced with window lights,
And beyond them were the dark hills.
It was the speech of a friend that made her live for me—
She was living then—,
Rosy Miller, who gave and gave,
Who, a child still, had learned the whole meaning of life,
Who asked nothing,
Who never held a hand out mendicant to others.