Page:Songs of Rebellion (Hall 1915).djvu/28

 A LETTER TO PSYCHE

My soul,—I call you this—I come tonight To send love's pleading message on its flight Across the gulf of silence; and I dream That it will find you by some sylvan stream; That it will reach you ere the hand of fate Has written the death-giving words, Too Late.

Have you forgotten all the golden past? Was it too fair and beautiful to last? Have I, at any moment, dearest one, A single thing to hurt you, said or done? If so, I would recall the word or deed, And for your full forgiveness, dear, I plead.

The days are long without you, dear; so long The hours between the dark and dawn! The song You sang has melted to an undertone, And shadows linger where the sunlight shone; And darkness hastens, dear, to blight The world you made so beautiful and bright.

Your dear, lost face smiles on me through a mist Of tears; the hand that I so oft have kissed Upon my shoulder rests; your witching eyes Are on me, and I turn with glad surprise— A dream? And is this all? And must all end In nothing, and the dream to dust descend?

A man's life is the life his heart receives From her he loves, in whom his soul believes; Beyond her there is nothing more divine, And, so, you were to me my faith and shrine: To all things else I may have been untrue, But never yet an infidel to you.

My heart, my soul's own soul, I come tonight To send love's pleading message on its flight Across the gulf of silence; and I pray That love will guard and haste it on its way; That it will reach you ere the hand of fate Has written the death-giving words, Too Late. —22—