GHOSTLY LOVES

‘ Oh why,’ my darling prayeth me,‘ must you sing

For ever of ghostly loves, phantasmal passion?

Seeing that you never loved me after that fashion

And the love I gave was not a phantom thing,

But delight of eager lips and strong arms folding

The beauty of yielding arms and of smooth shoulder,

All fluent grace of which you were the moulder:

And I.... Oh, I was happy for your holding.’

‘ Ah, do you not know, my dearest, have you not seen

The shadow that broodeth over things that perish:

How age may mock sweet moments that have been

And death defile the beauty that we cherish?

Wherefore, sweet spirit, I thank thee for thy giving:

‘ Tis my spirit that embraceth thee dead or living.’