You come to me at twilight, when the others,
Are laughing in the fullness of their joy;
When glad-eyed women folk, when wives and mothers,
Are welcoming some other bronze-cheeked boy.
You come to me, all silent, in the gloaming,
A shadow form, with curly shadow hair—
And, dear, I somehow feel that you are roaming
Between two shadow worlds—the Here and There.

They ask me, do those others, why I wander
Down dewy lanes, alone, at eventide—
They do not know my heart's a shadow—yonder...
They do not know that part of me has died.
They do not know that your dear presence stands
Just out of reach with misty, wide-flung hands!