Love Stronger than Death
A
Agnes Mary Frances Duclaux
0
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I dreamed my Lady and I were dead
And dust was either heart;
Our bodies in one grave were laid,
Our souls went far apart,
Hers with the saints for aye to dwell
And mine to lie and pine in Hell.
But when my Lady looked for me
And found her quest in vain,
For all that blessed company
She knew nothing but pain.
She cried: “How feigned your praising is!
Your God is love, and love I miss.”
The hills whereon her tear-drops fell
Were white with lily-flowers.
They made the burning caves of Hell
As green as Eden-bowers,
Unloosed my tongue, my fetters broke,
“Praised be love,” I cried and woke.
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