910

An arm's length from thy bosom and no more

Shalt find me never, nor thine eye wax glad

To mix with mine its eyesight and for love

Laugh without word, filled with sweet light, and speak

Divine dumb things of the inward spirit and heart,

Moved silently; nor hand or lip again

Touch hand or lip of either, but for mine

[Pg 54]

Shall thine meet only shadows of swift night,

Dreams and dead thoughts of dead things; and the bed

Thou strewedst, a sterile place for all time, strewn

920

For my sleep only, with its void sad sheets

Shall vex thee, and the unfruitful coverlid

For empty days reproach me dead, that leave

No profit of my body, but am gone

As one not worth being born to bear no seed,

A sapless stock and branchless; yet thy womb

Shall want not honour of me, that brought forth

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