Dear Ghost, across a wind-swept sphere

You wander back again to me,

And I am not afraid, for see

I bid you rest beside me here!

I press your icy lips to mine,

Since you and I are almost one

Can I condemn what you have done

To render fruitless the divine?

Some day perchance our weary task

May finish, and we two will stand

Before the Maker, hand in hand,

There will be much that we shall ask!