"Sun and Moon illume the Room
Where the ceiling is the sky:
Night and day the Weavers ply
Colour, shadow, hue, and dye,
Where the rushing shuttles fly,
Weaving dreams across the Loom,
Picturing a common doom!
"How, Beloved, can we die—
We Immortals, Thou and I?"
He smiled: "Death seems very far away," he said.
"Nothing dies.... If only this world could understand.... Did I tell you that mother has been with me often while you were away?"
"No."
"It was wonderfully sweet to see her in the room. One night I fell asleep across her knees."
"Does she ever speak to you, Athalie?"
"Yes, sometimes we talk."
"At night?"
"By day, too.... I was sitting in the living-room the other morning, and she came up behind me and took both my hands. We talked, I lying back in the rocking chair and looking up at her.... Mrs. Connor came
in. I am quite sure she was frightened when she heard my voice in there conversing with nobody she could see."