Face In The Tomb That Lies So Still

Face in the tomb, that lies so still,         May I draw near,     And watch your 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 flicker near me like white butterflies -     That meadow where immortal lovers meet,         Gazing for ever in immortal eyes.