A WOMAN'S VOICE

His head within my bosom lay,

But yet his spirit slipped not through:

I only felt the burning clay

That withered for the cooling dew.

It was but pity when I spoke

And called him to my heart for rest,

And half a mother's love that woke

Feeling his head upon my breast:

And half the lion's tenderness

To shield her cubs from hurt or death,

Which, when the serried hunters press,

Makes terrible her wounded breath.

But when the lips I breathed upon

Asked for such love as equals claim

I looked where all the stars were gone

Burned in the day's immortal flame.

‘ Come thou like yon great dawn to me

From darkness vanquished, battles done:

Flame unto flame shall flow and be

Within thy heart and mine as one.’