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AT DUSK
Now I but ask to know thee near,
To feel thy large embrace!
Tranquil to lie against thy breast—
Deep source of noiseless springs,
Where hearts are healed, and wounds are dressed,
And naught or sobs or sings:
Against thy breast to lie at rest—
A life that folds its wings.
Sometime I may—for who can tell?—
Awake, no longer tired,
And see the fields of asphodel,
The dreamed-of, the desired,
And find the heights where He doth dwell,
To whom my heart aspired!
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