A BROKEN SWORD.

Deep in the night I saw the sea,

And overhead, the round moon white;

Its steel cold gleam lay on the lea,

And seemed my sword of life and light,

Broke in that war death waged with me.

I heard the dip of golden oars;

Twelve angels stranded in a boat;

We sailed away for other shores;

Though but an hour we were afloat,

We harbored under heavenly doors.

O, Blanche, if I had run my race,

And if I wore my winding sheet,

And mourners went about the place,

Would you so much as cross the street,

To kiss in death my white, cold face?