The Flown Soul

FEBRUARY 6, 1881     Come not again! I dwell with you     Above the realm of frost and dew,     Of pain and fire, and growth to death.     I dwell with you where never breath     Is drawn, but fragrance vital flows     From life to life, even as a rose     Unseen pours sweetness through each vein     And from the air distills again.     You are my rose unseen; we live     Where each to other joy may give     In ways untold, by means unknown     And secret as the magnet-stone.     For which of us, indeed, is dead?     No more I lean to kiss your head -     The gold-red hair so thick upon it;     Joy feels no more the touch that won it     When o'er my brow your pearl-cool palm     In tenderness so childish, calm,     Crept softly, once. Yet, see, my arm     Is strong, and still my blood runs warm.     I still can work, and think and weep.     But all this show of life I keep     Is but the shadow of your shine,     Flicker of your fire, husk of your vine;     Therefore, you are not dead, nor I     Who hear your laughter's minstrelsy.     Among the stars your feet are set;     Your little feet are dancing yet     Their rhythmic beat, as when on earth.     So swift, so slight are death and birth!     Come not again, dear child. If thou     By any chance couldst break that vow     Of silence at thy last hour made;     If to this grim life unafraid     Thou couldst return, and melt the frost     Wherein thy bright limbs' power was lost;     Still would I whisper - since so fair     This silent comradeship we share -     Yes, whisper 'mid the unbidden rain     Of tears: "Come not, come not again!"