Page:Poems and Baudelaire Flowers.djvu/17

Rh  And lift your arms to enfold me
 * And draw me down to your face,

And closer, closer, hold me
 * In the depths of a dumb embrace,

Till we cling without stir on the grass
 * Under the quiet sun,

Forgetting that all things pass,
 * Dead to all things but one.

hour ago she climbed the stair
 * And stepped into her lonely room,

And found his letter lying there
 * Upon the table, in the gloom.

She dropped it with a little sigh.
 * Took off her hat and old green coat

And lit the lamp with scrutinous eye,
 * Just murmuring, “The same old note.

“He’s aching to be here, but sees
 * No earthly chance of coming yet.

The fates are deaf to paupers’ pleas”
 * She turned again, her lids were wet.

An hour ago she picked it up
 * And saw his opening burst of joy,

Half-blinded clasped her brimming cup,
 * And cried aloud, “My boy, my boy!”