Epilogue

These, to you now, O, more than ever now - Now that the Ancient Enemy Has passed, and we, we two that are one, have seen A piece of perfect Life Turn to so ravishing a shape of Death The Arch-Discomforter might well have smiled In pity and pride, Even as he bore his lovely and innocent spoil From those home-kingdoms he left desolate! Poor windlestraws On the great, sullen, roaring pool of Time And Chance and Change, I know! But they are yours, as I am, till we attain That end for which me make, we two that are one: A little, exquisite Ghost Between us, smiling with the serenest eyes Seen in this world, and calling, calling still In that clear voice whose infinite subtleties Of sweetness, thrilling back across the grave, Break the poor heart to hear: - 'Come, Dadsie, come! Mama, how long--how long!'