I think if I should cross the room,
Far as fear,
Should stand beside you like a thought--
Touch you, dear,
Like a fancy--to your sad heart
It would seem
That my vision passed and prayed you,
Or my dream.
Then you would look with lonely eyes--
Lift your head--
And you would stir and sigh, and say,
"She is dead."
Baffled by death and love, I lean
Through the gloom.
O Lord of life! Am I forbid
To cross the room?