“The Curtains Now Are Drawn”

                                  I
        The curtains now are drawn,
        And the spindrift strikes the glass,
        Blown up the jagged pass
        By the surly salt sou'-west,
        And the sneering glare is gone
        Behind the yonder crest,
            While she sings to me:
"O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine,
And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine,
And death may come, but loving is divine."

                                  II

        I stand here in the rain,
        With its smite upon her stone,
        And the grasses that have grown
        Over women, children, men,
        And their texts that "Life is vain";
        But I hear the notes as when
            Once she sang to me:
"O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine,
And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine,
And death may come, but loving is divine."

    1913