Cold And Quiet.

Cold, my dear, - cold and quiet.         In their cups on yonder lea,     Cowslips fold the brown bee's diet;         So the moss enfoldeth thee.     "Plant me, plant me, O love, a lily flower -         Plant at my head, I pray you, a green tree;     And when our children sleep," she sighed, "at the dusk hour,         And when the lily blossoms, O come out to me!"             Lost, my dear? Lost! nay deepest          Love is that which loseth least;             Through the night-time while thou sleepest,          Still I watch the shrouded east.     Near thee, near thee, my wife that aye liveth,         "Lost" is no word for such a love as mine;     Love from her past to me a present giveth,         And love itself doth comfort, making pain divine.             Rest, my dear, rest. Fair showeth          That which was, and not in vain             Sacred have I kept, God knoweth,          Love's last words atween us twain.     "Hold by our past, my only love, my lover;         Fall not, but rise, O love, by loss of me!"     Boughs from our garden, white with bloom hang over.         Love, now the children slumber, I come out to thee.