From dreams of terror—and the mad return
Into the bounteous pity of two arms,
The comfort and the kindness. O the return
Forever and forever, wild and sad,
Seraphic with all weariness and pain,
Insatiate with all love—as if to slake
In one abandon all the desperate drought
Of the years to come! Upon my own I felt
The wet, salt quivering of your lips, and all
Your being fold me in, urgent to save,