“FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL”

Face in the tomb, that lies so still,

May I draw near,

And watch your sleep and love you,

Without word or tear.

You smile, your eyelids flicker;

Shall I tell

How the world goes that lost you?

Shall I tell?

Ah! love, lift not your eyelids;

‘ Tis the same

Old story that we laughed at,—

Still the same.

We knew it, you and I,

We knew it all:

Still is the small the great,

The great the small;

Still the cold lie quenches

The flaming truth,

And still embattled age

Wars against youth.

Yet I believe still in the ever-living God

That fills your grave with perfume,

Writing your name in violets across the sod,

Shielding your holy face from hail and snow;

And, though the withered stay, the lovely go,

No transitory wrong or wrath of things

Shatters the faith — that each slow minute brings

That meadow nearer to us where your feet

Shall flicker near me like white butterflies —

That meadow where immortal lovers meet,

Gazing for ever in immortal eyes.