Haunting
There is no peace amid the moonlight and the pines;
Deep in the windless gloom the lamplike thought of you
Abides; and ah, what burning memories pursue
My heart among the pallid marbles!*** Night assigns
Your silver face for wardress of the doors of Sleep;
Beyond the wild, last bourn of dreamland, lo, your eyes
Are on the lonesome, ultimate, undiscovered skies;
Moonlike and dim, you wander ever in the deep
Which is the secret, innermost, unknown abyss
Of my own soul, and in its night your spirit lives.****
Shall I not find the very draught that Lethe gives,
Sweet with your tears, and warm with savour of your kiss?