If You Could Come

My love, my love, if you could come once more From your high place, I would not question you for heavenly lore, But, silent, take the comfort of your face. I would not ask you if those golden spheres In love rejoice, If only our stained star hath sin and tears, But fill my famished hearing with your voice. One touch of you were worth a thousand creeds. My wound is numb Through toil-pressed, but all night long it bleeds In aching dreams, and still you cannot come.