“I THOUGHT, MY HEART”

I thought, my Heart, that you had healed

Of those sore smartings of the past,

And that the summers had oversealed

All mark of them at last.

But closely scanning in the night

I saw them standing crimson-bright

Just as she made them:

Nothing could fade them;

Yea, I can swear

That there they were -

They still were there!

Then the Vision of her who cut them came,

And looking over my shoulder said,

“I am sure you deal me all the blame

For those sharp smarts and red;

But meet me, dearest, to-morrow night,

In the churchyard at the moon's half-height,

And so strange a kiss

Shall be mine, I wis,

That you'll cease to know

If the wounds you show

Be there or no!”