Classic Poem

From the dwelling-place of the Holy Dead
Wilt thou come back to me?
O Love, it is far
To that glad, great star
Whose shining hath hidden thee!
" Neither in star nor sun, " she said,
Her voice as it oft had been,
" The dwelling-place of the Holy Dead,
Nor dreamer nor saint hath seen. "

Lost Love of mine, where we walked of yore
Thy feet made hallowed ground;
Now earth is earth,
Here are death and birth,
But where is the glory found?
Low at my side her voice once more,
" Dull are thine eyes, " she said;
" Walk with me now as we went of yore, "
And I walk with the Holy Dead.