III.
“THY LIPS ON MINE!”
I
When am I most at peace, when have I most
Of faith in sunlit heaven and light divine,
And least in death the shadowy sunless ghost?
—When, all the world shut out, with thee I sit;
The fire aglow, the red-shade candles lit,
Thy hand in mine.
II
When have I most of gladness here within
This stormy rain-dark town, where gas-jets shine
But for full many a year no star has been?
—When in thy glance I catch the sudden gleam
Of far-off waves, and pass into a dream,
Thine eyes on mine.
III
When have I most of joy's delicious throes,
The unearthly joy that baffles verse and line,—
Most sense of sweetness of the sovereign rose?
—When towards our bower of passion I retreat
And find love's mystic rapture strangely sweet,
Thy lips on mine!
