RESURRECTION

You have come back,— how strange — out of the grave;

Its dreams are in your eyes, and still there clings

Dust of the grave on your vainglorious hair;

And a mysterious rust is on these rings —

The ring we gave each other, that young night

When the moon rose on our betrothal kiss;

When the sun rose upon our wedding day,

How wonderful it was to give you this!

I dreamed you were a bird or a wild flower,

Some changed lovely thing that was not you;

Maybe, I said, she is the morning star,

A radiance unfathomably far —

And now again you are so strangely near!

Your face, your voice, again after these years!

Is it your face I see, your voice I hear,

And is this blessed rain, angel, your tears?