Iv

That all tomorrows have no wound in store For shrinking Joy, nor any prick of dread, I know, who closed its eyes forevermore, And keep this night a vigil with my dead.

This little space my out-thrown hands have stirred Is happy earth, for once it knew love’s feet; Here once love stood and called the heart that heard, And all the garden, all the world, grew sweet.

I lay my joy within this hollowed space (I had not thought so blithe a thing could die!) And heap the happy earth upon the face That has no will to smile nor breath to sigh.

With dew beneath and hushing night above I cannot tell how long my grief has lain-- Virgin, I will not plead you for my love, Only the pain,--if you would ease the pain.