—­Until those human kind arms caught
And nursed my head
Upon her breast who from the twilight brought
This stranger me. 
Mother, it were yet happiness to be
Within your arms; but now that you are dead
Your memory sleeps in mine; so mine is comforted,
  Though I breathed dear Adieu
  Unheard by you.

And I have gathered to my breast
Wife, mistress, child,
Affections insecure but tenderest
Of all that clutch
Man’s heart with their “Too little!” and “Too much!”
O, what anxieties, what passions wild
Bind and unbind me, what storms never to be stilled
  Until Adieu, Adieu
  Breathe the night through.

O, when all last farewells are said
To these most dear;
O, when within my purged heart peace is shed;
When these old sweet
Humanities move out on hushing feet,
And all is hush; then in that silence clear
Who is it comes again—­near and near and near,
  Even while the sighed Adieu
  Fades the hush through?

O, is it on thy breast I fall,
A spiritual thing
Once more, and hear with ear insensual
The voice of primal Earth
Breathed gently as on Eden faint airs forth;
And so contented to thy bosom cling,
Though all those loves are gone nor faithful echoes ring,
  Nor fond Adieu, Adieu
  My parted spirit pursue?

—­So hidden in green darkness deep,
Feel when I wake
The tides of night and day upon thee sweep,
And know thy forehead bared before the East,
And hear thy forests hushing in the West
And in thy bosom, Earth, the slow heart shake: 
But hear no more the infinite forest murmurs break
  Into Adieu, Adieu,
  No more Adieu!

THE VISIT

I reached the cottage.  I knew it from the card
He had given me—­the low door heavily barred,
Steep roof, and two yews whispering on guard.

Dusk thickened as I came, but I could smell
First red wallflower and an early hyacinth bell,
And see dim primroses.  “O, I can tell,”

I thought, “they love the flowers he loved.”  The rain
Shook from fruit bushes in new showers again
As I brushed past, and gemmed the window pane.

Bare was the window yet, and the lamp bright. 
I saw them sitting there, streamed with the light
That overflowed upon the enclosing night.

“Poor things, I wonder why they’ve lit up so,”
A voice said, passing on the road below. 
“Who are they?” asked another.  “Don’t you know?”

Their voices crept away.  I heard no more
As I crossed the garden and knocked at the door. 
I waited, then knocked louder than before,

And thrice, and still in vain.  So on the grass
I stepped, and tap-tapped on the rainy glass. 
Then did a girl without turning towards me pass

From the room.  I heard the heavy barred door creak,
And a voice entreating from the doorway speak,
“Will you come this way?”—­a voice childlike and quick.