Desiderium

Face in the tomb, that lies so still, May I draw near, And watch you sleep and love you, Without word or tear? You smile, your eyelids flicker; Shall I tell How the world goes that lost you? Shall I tell? Ah, love, lift not your eyelids; 'Tis the same Old story that we laughed at, Still the same. We knew it, you and I, We knew it all: Still is the small the great, The great the small; Still the cold lie quenches The flaming truth, And still embattled age Wars against youth. Yet I believe still in the ever-living God That fills your grave with perfume, Writing your name in violets across the sod, Shielding your holy face from hail and snow; And, though the withered stay, the lovely go. No transitory wrong or wrath of things Shatters the faith -- that each slow minute brings That meadow nearer to us where your feet Shall flutter near me like white butterfilies -- That meadow where immortal lovers meet, Gazing forever in immortal eyes.