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245

V.

This night thou tarriest with me; not on wings
Evasive shalt thou this night cleave the gloom!
Rest here, a gold-winged angel in my room,
And white-winged woman-spirit whom time brings
Ready at last to him who waits and sings.
Lo! thou art risen at last, love, from thy tomb,
Beautiful, glad, a flower in perfect bloom,
And in mine ear thy wedded whisper rings.
“Lo! I am coming—let the feast be ready,
The wedding furnished, and love's gold flame steady
I' the air—lo! now at last, in no sweet dream,
In mine own robe of snowy woman-whiteness
I meet unshrinking, love, the fierce dear brightness
That from thy loving conquering eyes doth stream.