THE KISS

I stole into the secret room

Where Love lay dying;

Mystic and faint perfume

Met me like sighing;

As heaven had cast a still-born star

He lay nor stirred; the shell-thin hand

Nerveless of high command

Where once the lord-veins sped their fire.

And I had thought me glad

To let him go. “He reaps

His own,” I pious said.

But this, ah, this

Unpleading helplessness!

“Give me thy death,” I cried,

And took it from his lips.

The windows burst them wide.

The sun came in;

And Love high at my side

Stood sovereign.