I'll come as a perfume, a color, a thought,
And touch you with fingers more light than a look,
'Till you tremble and thrill, and I know you have caught
The remembrance of earth, and the love you forsook.
I will surely follow, through doubt and fear,
To sit at your feet in your bowers of bliss;
Beautiful Soul, my dearest Dear,
Fly not too far, lest the way I miss.
For the universe is long and wide,
And your elements so etherial fine,
If by any chance I should pass aside.
My heaven would be lost in seeking thine.
TO MY VALENTINE.
Vexed with the day's long toil of thought,
I fly to where it cometh not;
I ope my door—a fine perfume
Pervades the quiet of my room.
A glance—I cry out with delight
"The Saint! the Saint!" O blessed sprite,
Thrice welcome when you come with flowers
To sweeten my reposeful hours!
February 14, 1888.
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