He and she; yet she would not smile, Though he call’d her the name that was fondest erewhile. He and she; and she did not move To any one passionate whisper of love. Then he said, “Cold lips! and breast without breath! Is there no voice?—no language of death “Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, But to heart and to soul distinct,—intense? “See, now,—I listen with soul, not ear— What was the secret of dying, Dear? “Was it the infinite wonder of all, That you ever could let life’s flower fall? “Or was it a greater marvel to feel The perfect calm o’er the agony steal? “Was the miracle greatest to find how deep, Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep? “Did life roll backward its record, Dear, And show, as they say it does, past things clear? “And was it the innermost heart of the bliss To find out so what a wisdom love is? “Oh, perfect Dead! oh, Dead most dear, I hold the breath of my soul to hear; “I listen—as deep as to horrible hell, As high as to heaven!—and you do not tell! “There must be pleasures in dying, Sweet, To make you so placid from head to feet! p. 77“I would tell you, Darling, if I were dead, And ’twere your hot tears upon my brow shed. p. 77 “I would say, though the angel of death had laid His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. “You should not ask, vainly, with streaming eyes, Which in Death’s touch was the chiefest surprise; “The very strangest and suddenest thing Of all the surprises that dying must bring.” * * * * Ah! foolish world! Oh! most kind Dead! Though he told me, who will believe it was said?
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