THE HOUSE OF TEARS

When in the old years I had dreams of thee

Thy dark walls stood in a most barren place;

And he within ( was his wan face my face? )

Wandered alone and wept continually.

There was no bird to hear, nor sun to see,

Nor green thing growing; nor for his release

Came sleep; neither forgetfulness nor peace:

Whereby I knew that none had sinned as he.

To-day I met him where white lilies gleam;

Across our path we watched the sparrows flit;

Until — the sunlight strong in our dry eyes —

He paused with me beside a green-edged stream,

Moaning, “I know, where its young waters rise,

Remembering, one leaneth over it.”