[Illustration: T]
Transfigured soul, so often you come back
To break my endless night of pain and doubt
With those clear eyes that Death has not put out,
But lit with fire immortal; Ah! I lack
The words to tell the turning of the rack
When I begin to find again about
Old haunts your beauty’s presence, quick to rout
Despair, and softly lighting memory’s track.
Years I went singing of you up and down,
Now I go mourning for you through the land
In heavy loneliness. My Day, my Crown,
One splendid joy great sorrow cannot drown:
That when you come I know and understand
Your walk, your voice, your face, your hair, your gown.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]