But he who loved her too well to dread
     The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead,

     He lit his lamp, and took the key
     And turned it—­alone again, he and she.

     He and she; but she would not speak,
     Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek.

     He and she; yet she would not smile,
     Though he called her the name she loved erewhile.

     He and she; still she did not move
     To any passionate whisper of love.

     Then he said, “Cold lips and breasts without breath,
     Is there no voice, no language of death,

     “Dumb to the ear and still to the sense,
     But to heart and to soul distinct, intense?

     “See, now; I will listen with soul, not ear: 
     What was the secret of dying, dear?

     “Was it the infinite wonder of all
     That you ever could let life’s flower fall?

     “Or was it a greater marvel to feel
     The perfect calm o’er the agony steal?

     “Was the miracle greater to find how deep
     Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep?

     “Did life roll back its record dear,
     And show, as they say it does, past things clear?

     “And was it the innermost heart of the bliss
     To find out so, what a wisdom love is?

     “O perfect dead!  O dead most dear! 
     I hold the breath of my soul to hear.

     “I listen as deep as to horrible hell,
     As high as to heaven, and you do not tell.

     “There must be pleasure in dying, sweet,
     To make you so placid from head to feet!

     “I would tell you, darling, if I were dead,
     And ’twere your hot tears upon my brow shed,—­

     “I would say, though the Angel of Death had laid
     His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid,—­

     “You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes,
     Which of all deaths was the chiefest surprise.

     “The very strangest and suddenest thing
     Of all the surprises that dying must bring.”

     Ah, foolish world!  O most kind dead! 
     Though he told me, who will believe it was said?

     Who will believe that he heard her say,
     With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way,

     “The utmost wonder is this,—­I hear
     And see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear;

     “And am your angel, who was your bride,
     And know that though dead, I have never died.”

AFTER DEATH

          From ‘Pearls of the Faith’

     He made life—­and He takes it—­but instead
     Gives more:  praise the Restorer, Al-Mu’hid!

          He who died at Azan sends
          This to comfort faithful friends:—­