In her high, bright noontide

The shadows fell upon . .


At Easter, 1902 . . . .


When your head once lay on my breast,

And your hand was closed in my hand,

You drew back the veil from your soul

And asked could I understand.

The letters that flamed in gold flame

On its virgin whiteness I scanned—

"I love you, I love you, O Love"—

And I whispered, I understand.

I thought I did. Foolish we be!

I, in Sorrow's intense solitude

Where the dread hours drag into ages,

Fared far ere I understood.

Yesternight I lifted wet eyes

To the stars, that were as the sands,

And cried, O, my God! it is now,

Only now, that my soul understands.


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In the Celtic Past

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