As she comes not again.
True heart I lost, I miss you, but
I know not where to find;
How see the eyes that death hath shut
The sad eyes left behind?
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One night I dreamt I saw her, dead.
The dream - the life - are one.
A halo of gold about the head
Dearest beneath the sun.
They wear not halos here. . . The eyes
Are pitiful, you see.
In their blue calms of Paradise
Is there no place for me?
The vistaed wood-walks are forgot
That markt the ways of old, -
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