 | Poems |  |
142
FORGIVEN.
I dreamed so dear a dream of you last night!I thought you came. I was so glad, so gay,
I whispered, “Those were foolish words to say:
I meant them not. I cannot bear the sight
Of your dear face. I cannot meet the light
Of your dear eyes upon me. Sit, I pray,—
Sit here beside me: turn your look away,
And lay your cheek on mine.” Till morning bright
We sat so, and we did not speak. I knew
All was forgiven; so I nestled there
With your arms round me. Swift the sweet hours flew.
At last I waked, and sought you everywhere.
How long, dear, think you, that my glad cheek will
Burn,—as it burns with your cheek's pressure still?
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