Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/233

Rh Sometime I may—for who can tell?—

Awake, no longer tired,

And see the fields of asphodel,

The dreamed-of, the desired,

And find the heights where He doth dwell,

To whom my heart aspired!

And then— But peace awaiteth me—

Thy peace: I feel it near;

The hush, the voiceless mystery,

The languor without fear!

Enfold me—close; I want but thee!

But thee, Earth-mother dear!