"Walthamstow, Essex.
"Tuesday in Holy Week.
"My dearest Crom,
"Yes, it's quite true, I ought to be ashamed of myself, I am ashamed of myself: I won't make any excuses: please forgive me. As the train went away from the station, I saw you standing in your scholar's gown, and looking for me. If I hadn't been on the other side, I think I should have got out of the window to say good-bye again . . . Ted will shew something to criticize, or stop, I may as well write it for you myself; it is exceedingly seedy. Here it is.
'Twas in Church on Palm Sunday,
Listening what the priest did say
Of the kiss that did betray,
That the thought did come to me,
How the olives used to be
Growing in Gethsemane.
That the thoughts upon me came
Of the lantern's steady flame,
Of the softly whispered name.
Of how kiss and words did sound
While the olives stood around,
While the robe lay on the ground.
Then the words the Lord did speak
And that kiss in Holy Week
Dreams of many a kiss did make:
Lover's kiss beneath the moon,
With it sorrow cometh soon:
Juliet's within the tomb:
Angelico's in quiet light
'Mid the aureoles very bright
God is looking from the height.
