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WAITING.
[Margaret.]
DID you call me, O my lover, did you call me ?
Was it you that sent a thrill across the dark ?
Come in any shape, O love, 'twill not appal rne,
Voice or presence, ghost or music, dear, I hark.
Are you living, O my lover, are you mortal ?
Is there flesh upon the hand stretched out to mine ?
Man's or angel's, it shall draw me past the portal
In the distance, where the sprinkled lintels shine,
Shewing forth, in crimson drops from the Atonement,
That, from henceforth, love and sorrow are divine.
If he would come but once again,
Oh I would kneel so lowly !
My lips should drain his wound of pain,
And satisfy him wholly.
