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1876–1944

IN THE MIST

Helen Hay Whitney

Ah love, my love, upon this alien shore I lean and watch the pale uneasy ships Slip thro’ the waving mist in strange eclipse, Like spirits of some time and land of yore.

I did not think my heart could love thee more, And yet, when lightlier than a swallow dips, The wind lays ghostly kisses on my lips I seem to know of love the eternal core.

Here is no throbbing of impassioned breath To beat upon my cheek, no pulsing heart Which might be silenced by the touch of Death, No smile which other smile has softly kissed

Or doting gaze which Time must draw apart, But spirit's spirit in the trailing mist.

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IN THE MIST · Helen Hay Whitney · Poetry Cove