THE ROOM'S WIDTH.

I think if I should cross the room,

Far as fear;

Should stand beside you like a thought —

Touch you, Dear!

Like a fancy. To your sad heart

It would seem

That my vision passed and prayed you,

Or my dream.

Then you would look with lonely eyes —

Lift your head —

And you would stir, and sigh, and say —

“She is dead.”

Baffled by death and love, I lean

Through the gloom.

O Lord of life! am I forbid

To cross the room?