The Last Night in the House

NAY, dearest, in their quiet place
The violets leave, and near his face
Set roses in the gloom;
That, should he breathe once in the chill
(Such thing, by God’s releasing will,
Might hap perchance when hearths are still),
His lips may breathe perfume.

And let one taper o’er his sleep
Its trembling, tender vigil keep,
Watchful and pale and clear;
That, if by strange, august decree
Those lids but once should lifted be,
The panes, the ceiling, he may see,
And know that he is here.

Nor leave unpressed the good-night kiss —
Good-night to all ‘Good-nights’ is this —
(The lips are cold — touch but the hair)
In hope some thought’s faint, hovering flake
The brain’s deep apathy should break,
And he be glad should he awake
To feel our kisses there.

He will not speak when we are near;
He will not wake when we are here;
Of us who live the dead have fear —
Dear heart, come — come away!
Tread low! If soundless are our feet
His heart may rouse to visions sweet,
And love us in one long, last beat,
Ere it be hushed for aye.