Sonnet

Tell me again, and then lift up to me

Those frail white arms of thine, and touch my face,

And wrap me wholly in thine eyes ' embrace,

Till God's sure hand run fire round thee and me.

Tell me again, and let thy speaking be

A faint phrased echo, delicate as lace,

Of seas sonorous through the void of space,

The low, lost rhythm of immensity.

Tell me again, and where thy breasts divide

Pillow my weariness, -- the breath of Fall

Shall blow crisp crimson leaves upon thy hair;

Thy presence is as where a song has died,

And left its memory grieving over all

This vital solitude of autumn air.