XLI

Dear hands, so many times so much

When the spent year was green and prime,

Come, take your fill, and touch

This one poor time.

Dear lips, that could not leave unsaid

One sweet-souled syllable of delight,

Once more — and be as dead

In the dead night.

Dear eyes, so fond to read in mine

The message of our counted years,

Look your proud last, nor shine

Through tears — through tears.