Outre Mort

You came to me in visions of the night,
Your pale brow bound by a bright ring of flame;
High, unapproachable, and dazzling white,
You came.

I rose and called you by your dearest name;—
“Tell me,” I said, “how go the hours’ flight
In that far land? Do men strive there for Fame

And Love?” Then I lost sense and sight:
You bent to me,—your kisses were the same
As when, long since, to be my life’s delight
You came.