The Wife

Living, I had no might

To make you hear,

Now, in the inmost night,

I am so near

No whisper, falling light,

Divides us, dear.

Living, I had no claim

On your great hours.

Now the thin candle-flame,

The closing flowers,

Wed summer with my name, —

And these are ours.

Your shadow on the dust,

Strength, and a cry,

Delight, despair, mistrust, —

All these am I.

Dawn, and the far hills thrust

To a far sky.

Living, I had no skill

To stay your tread,

Now all that was my will

Silence has said.

We are one for good and ill

Since I am dead.