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Poems

By the author of "The Patience of Hope" [i.e. Dora Greenwell]
  

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THE KISS.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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46

THE KISS.

“She died young!”
“I think not so; her infelicity
Seemed to have years too many.”
Webster.

I come to thee from one
Thou knowest of,—I bear to thee her kiss:
“No bitter words;” she said, “when I am gone
Give thou but only this.”
The mouth was wellnigh cold
I took it from, yet hath it power to bless;
The lips that sent it never moved of old
Except in tenderness;
And ere they ceased to stir
They trembled, as if then they strove to frame
A word,—the only one 'twixt heaven and her,—
Methought it was thy name.
They wore unto the last
A calm, sad, twilight smile, from patience won;
Her face had light on it that was not cast
From joy's long-sunken sun.

47

She waited for a word
Of Love to stay on; Hope did long endure;
She waited long on Time, for she had heard
His spells, though slow, were sure.
She waited; but her stroke
Was heavier than her groaning; one by one
All failed her: Grief was strongest, so it broke
Each thing it leaned upon.
She waited long on God,
And He forsook not; through the gloomy vale
She leant upon His staff, until His rod
Brake forth in blossoms pale.
Then did her spirit bless
The gracious token; then she saw the rife
Salt-crusted standing pools of bitterness
Spring up to wells of life.
And Peace, a friend for years
Estranged, stood by her on her dying bed:
See that thou weep not o'er her grave, her tears
Have long ago been shed.
She grieves not for the mould:
A heavier load lay long upon her breast
Than Earth, which hath been to her far more cold
In waking than in rest!