ath, that grew for us
Roses, red and amorous,
On that path, from which oft start,
Out of recollected places,
With remembered forms and faces,
Dreams, love's ardent hands have woven
In my life's dark tapestry,
Beckoning, soft and shadowy,
To the soul. And o'er the cloven
Gulf of time, I seem to hear
Words, once whispered in the ear,
Calling--as might friends long dead,
With familiar voices, deep,
Speak to those who lie asleep,
Comforting--So I was led
Backward to forgotten things,
Contiguities that spread
Sudden unremembered wings;
And across my mind's still blue
From the nest they fledged in, flew
Dazzling shapes affection knew.

X.

Ah! over full my heart is
Of sadness and of pain;
As a rose-flower in the garden
The dull dusk fills with rain;
As a blown red rose that shivers
And bends to the wind and rain.

So give me thy hands and speak me
As once in the days of yore,
When love spoke sweetly to us,
The love that speaks no more;
The sound of thy voice may help him
To speak in our hearts once more.

Ah! over grieved my soul is,
And tired and sick for sleep,
As a poppy-bloom that withers,
Forgotten, where reapers reap;
As a harvested poppy-flower
That dies where reapers reap.

So bend to my face and kiss me
As once in the days of yore,
When the touch of thy lips was magic
That restored to life once more;
The thought of thy kiss, which awakens
To life that love once more.

XI.

Sitting often I have, oh!
Often have desired you so--
Yearned to kiss you as I did
When your love to me you gave,
In the moonlight, by the wave,
And a long impetuous kiss
Pressed upon your mouth that chid,
And upon each dewy lid--
That, all passion-shaken, I
With love language will address
Each dear thing I know you by,
Picture, needle-work or frame:
Each suggestive in the same
Perfume of past happiness:
Till, meseems, the ways we knew
Now again I tread with you
From the oldtime tryst: and there
Feel the pressure of your hair
Cool and easy on my cheek,
And your breath's aroma: bare
Hand upon my arm, as weak
As a lily on a stream:
And your eyes, that gaze at me
With the sometime witchery,
To my inmost spirit speak.
And remembered ecstacy
Sweeps my soul again ... I seem
Dreaming, yet I do not dream.

XII.

When day dies, lone, forsaken,
And joy is kis