Classic Poem

As the faint dawn crept upward, gray and dim,
He saw her move across the past to him—

Her eyes as they had looked in long-gone years.
Tender with love, and soft with thoughts of tears.

Her hands, outstretched as if in wonderment
Nestled in his, and rested there, content.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “what glad dream is this?
I feel your clasp—your long-remembered kiss

“Touches my lips, as when you used to creep
In to my heart; and yet, this is not sleep—

“Is it some vision, that with night will fly?”
“Nay, dear,” she answered; “it is really I.”

“Now, little sweetheart, it is you, I know!
But I knew not the dead could meet us so

“Bodied as we are—see, how like we stand!”
“Like,” she replied, “in form, and face, and hand.”

Silent awhile, he held her to his breast
As if afraid to try the further test—

Then, speaking quickly: “Must you go away?”
“Dearest,” she murmured, “neither night nor day!”

Close on her bosom, then, she drew his head,
Trembling. “I do not understand,” he said;

“I thought the spirit world was far apart …”
“Nay!” she replied; “it is not, now, dear heart!

“Quick! let me close your eyes with kisses … so …
Cling to me, dear! … 'tis but a step to go!”

The white-faced watchers rose, beside his bed:
“Shut out the day,” they signed; “our friend is dead.”