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.