Absence

Sometimes I know the way

You walk, up over the bay;

It is a wind from that far sea

That blows the fragrance of your hair to me.

Or in this garden when the breeze

Touches my trees

To stir their dreaming shadows on the grass

I see you pass.

In sheltered beds, the heart of every rose

Serenely sleeps to-night. As shut as those

Your garded heart; as safe as they fomr the beat, beat

Of hooves that tread dropped roses in the street.

Turn never again

On these eyes blind with a wild rain

Your eyes; they were stars to me.—

There are things stars may not see.

But call, call, and though Christ stands

Still with scarred hands

Over my mouth, I must answer. So

I will come—He shall let me go!