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| Beyond death When on my brow death's cooling airs blow free, And all my days except the last are fled; I have a wish with upturned face to see Thy gracious form bent o'er my dying head. I have a wish that on that last of days, Thy dear, dark eyes, soul-lighted as of old, Might sound the depths of mine with silent gaze, And guess the secret that I never told. I have a wish that on my forehead chill Thy lips at last might print one pitying kiss, One kiss of love, whose sweet mysterious thrill Would seem a forecast of immortal bliss; While in thy murmured words my soul might hear Echoes of angel's voices rolling near.. |
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