Wild weather; the whip of the sleet
On the shuttered casement tapping;
A shadow from face to feet,
Like a shroud, my spirit wrapping,
Wild weather; and how is she
Now the sting of the storm beats serried,
Over the stone and the tree
Of the grave where she is buried?
Wild weather; I cannot weep —
But the skies weep on and worry;
So I sleep, and dream in my sleep
How I hear dim garments hurry....
Star weather and footsteps of stars;
And I see white raiment glisten,
Like the glow on the face of Mars
When the stars to the angels listen.
And with me I see how she stands
With lips high thought has weighted;
With testifying hands,
And eyes with purity mated.
Have I spoken and have I kneeled
To the prayer I worship, I wonder?—
What waits on her lips that are sealed?
God-sealed and who shall sunder!
I sob, “Oh your stay was long!
You are come, but your feet were laggard,
With mansuetude and song
For a heart your death has daggered.”
And I lift wet eyes to her
Unutterable with weeping,
And beg for the loves that were,
Now passed into Heaven's keeping....
I wake and a clock tolls three —
And the night and the storm lie serried
On the testament that's she,
Closed, clasped, and forever buried.