Ghosts

YES--kiss my forehead where the pain Is grinding outwards from my brain! But will not pity teach you, too, To kiss these lips no fire burns through-- These cheeks, made colourless and thin By years you had no portion in-- These weary eyes that wake and ache Not for your sake--not for your sake: Kiss, child, and let your kisses see If they can find the heart in me! There is a heart--or used to be! I think the pain is growing less Under your passionless caress-- Ah! could you teach my lips to crave But just such kisses as you gave, And could you, treading my life's ways, But lay these ghosts of dear dead days That walk my world by day and night, And bar the way of all delight-- If at your touch should waken--.. . . Vain! From heaven itself my soul would plain: 'Give me my ghosts, my ghosts again!'