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Post Mortem

ISSUE:  Winter 1927

Here, to her chamber door,
Down, weary, spent with toil,
Heavy of heart, and footsore—
One that could go no more—
Came he, that was I: Here, at the lintel leant,
Knocked, waited, tired, spent,
Listening with head bent;
So heard, presently,
Soft sounds cross the room,
Feet at the inner door;
Latch click, door sway,
Chink of light that made way Open to a soft gloom,—
And the world was worlds away!
She stood; i knelt.
Then she, sweet she,
Over my sunken eyes
Laid hands, and bade me rise.
And I, that had been he,
Poor he, that was blind To the bliss that she meant,
In a darkness that was felt,
To her kind shoulder leant;
And, on my face bent To the unbelieved content
Motionless, not to miss—
Felt her kiss.
O’er the sill,
Hand in mine, she drew me in;
And on her bed so still,
That to lie in was no sin,
On that shore, the cease of ill,
Set me free.

Then said she, sweet she, “Come, in my breast, and be!”
Curtains drawn, doors shut,
Earth mute,
Heaven aware:
So, held from head to foot,
Wound me in her dark hair.
Could i go one step,
One thought, from that breast,
Where slept All my cares,
And all ills found rest,
Such as none was known before?
She of cures the dear adept,
Mingler of all parted pairs—
To that sweet nest I crept,
Sank, slept, and woke no more.
Here over me in stone
Life bereaved has her say;
Here below, from ungrieved bone,
Unvexed flesh melts away.
Farewell, as now I fare,
Parting friends, that once did bind me,
Earth, vapor, fire and air;
Here, at ends of night and day,
Never more shall you find me!


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