In dreams I meet my loved one, but a change
Has touched her semblance, she is ivory pale,
And in her great blue eyes shines something strange—
Is it the light of God?—that like a veil
Divides us when our souls touch lips in sleep . . .
Has touched her semblance, she is ivory pale,
And in her great blue eyes shines something strange—
Is it the light of God?—that like a veil
Divides us when our souls touch lips in sleep . . .
I wrote a book in praise of her last year,
She holds it still. Her hair is like a flame. . . .
Her plaintive mouth pleads mutely . . . but I hear
That clear voice never . . . though I call her name
Each night, all night . . . and then I wake and weep.
She holds it still. Her hair is like a flame. . . .
Her plaintive mouth pleads mutely . . . but I hear
That clear voice never . . . though I call her name
Each night, all night . . . and then I wake and weep.
55
