  Face in the tomb, that lies so still, May I draw near, And watch you 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 flutter near me like white butterflies— That meadow where immortal lovers meet, Gazing forever in immortal eyes. Smart Set Richard Le Gallienne |
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