Or the echoing where the angels sing
And the gates are just ajar.
Then I closed my eyes in dreamland
And joined my heart on the scout;
And I wandered away to a mound of clay
Where she sleeps since the light went out.
And there in the Southwest sun land
I knelt by my darling’s tomb,
And I whispered low: “My dear child, you know,
I am here in the ante-room.”