They leave their love-lorn haunts,
Their sigh-warm floating Eden;
And they are mute at once,
Mortals by God unheeden,
By their past kisses chidden.
But they have kist and known
Clear things we dim by guesses—
Spirit to spirit grown:
Heaven, born in hand-caresses.
Love, fall from sheltering tresses.
And they are dumb and strange:
Bared trees bowed from each other.
Their last green interchange
What lost dreams shall discover?
Dead, strayed, to love-strange lover.