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To her as you my weary tale
Of double life and pain;
And thawed her fingers chill and pale
Upon my burning brain;—
That daintiest piece of Flesh on earth,
I welcomed her to all my mirth.
And then I pressed her icy hand
Within my burning palm,
And told her tales of that far land,
Of sunshine, flowers, and balm;
I told her of the damp, dark hole,
The fetters and the tree,
And of the slimy things that stole
O'er shuddering flesh so free:
Yea, of the Bearded Ghastliness,
That sat in the sun's loveliness.
I welcomed her, I welcome thee,
To sit upon this stone,
And meditate all night with me,
On ages that are gone:
To dream again each marvellous dream,
Of passion and of truth,
