Sonnets
45
DUSK
Think not I may not know thee kneeling there,
For all I lie so silently in death;
Ay, ever as the candle flickereth,
I watch the light weave shadow in thy hair,
I see thy white hands eloquent in prayer,
I hear the agony of sobbing breath;
And words of faith thy sorrow whispereth
Upon thy lips are echoes of despair.
I hear—and wonder how one time we played
At this; called Death's reflection to Love's glass,
And blurred the image with a laugh, afraid.
Now Death is come and gone, the solemn mass
Low sung, the mirror shattered; fancies pass,
And heart in heart we weep Love's body laid.
