Earth-Bound
Ghosts?
Love
would
fain
believe,
Earth
being
so
fair,
the
dead
might
wish
to
return!
Is
it
so
strange
if,
even
in
heaven,
they
yearn
For
the
May-time
and
the
dreams
it
used
to
give?
Through
dark
abysms
of
Space,
From
strange
new
spheres
where
Death
has
called
them
now
May
they
not,
with
a
crown
on
every
brow,
Still
cry
to
the
loved
earth's
lost
familiar
face?
We
two,
love,
we
should
come
Seeking
a
little
refuge
from
the
light
Of
the
blinding
terrible
star-sown
Infinite,
Seeking
some
sheltering
roof,
some
four-walled
home,
From
that
too
high,
too
wide
Communion
with
the
universe
and
God,
How
glad
to
creep
back
to
some
lane
we
trod
Hemmed
in
with
a
hawthorn
hedge
on
either
side.
Fresh
from
death's
boundless
birth,
How
fond
the
circled
vision
of
the
sea
Would
seem
to
souls
tired
of
Infinity,
How
kind
the
soft
blue
boundaries
of
earth,
How
rich
the
nodding
spray
Of
pale
green
leaves
that
made
the
sapphire
deep
A
background
to
the
dreams
of
that
brief
sleep
We
called
our
life
when
heaven
was
far
away.
How
strange
would
be
the
sight
Of
the
little
towns
and
twisted
streets
again,
Where
all
the
hurrying
works
and
ways
of
men
Would
seem
a
children's
game
for
our
delight.
What
boundless
heaven
could
give
This
joy
in
the
strait
austere
restraints
of
earth,
Whereof
the
dead
have
felt
the
immortal
dearth
Who
look
upon
God's
face
and
cannot
live?
Our
ghosts
would
clutch
at
flowers
As
drowning
men
at
straws,
for
fear
the
sea
Should
sweep
them
back
to
God's
Eternity,
Still
clinging
to
the
day
that
once
was
ours.
No
more
with
fevered
brain
Plunging
across
the
gulfs
of
Space
and
Time
Would
we
revisit
this
our
earthly
clime
We
two,
if
we
could
ever
come
again;
Not
as
we
came
of
old,
But
reverencing
the
flesh
we
now
despise
And
gazing
out
with
consecrated
eyes,
Each
of
us
glad
of
the
other's
hand
to
hold.
So
we
should
wander
nigh
Our
mortal
home,
and
see
its
little
roof
Keeping
the
deep
eternal
night
aloof
And
yielding
us
a
refuge
from
the
sky.
We
should
steal
in,
once
more,
Under
the
cloudy
lilac
at
the
gate,
Up
the
walled
garden,
then
with
hearts
elate
Forget
the
stars
and
close
our
cottage
door.
Oh
then,
as
children
use
To
make
themselves
a
little
hiding-place,
We
would
rejoice
in
narrowness
of
space,
And
God
should
give
us
nothing
more
to
lose.
How
good
it
all
would
seem
To
souls
that
from
the
æonian
ebb
and
flow
Came
down
to
hear
once
more
the
to
and
fro
Swing
o'
the
clock
dictate
its
hourly
theme.
How
dear
the
strange
recall
From
vast
antiphonies
of
joy
and
pain
Beyond
the
grave,
to
these
old
books
again,
That
cosy
lamp,
those
pictures
on
the
wall.
Home!
Home!
The
old
desire!
We
would
shut
out
the
innumerable
skies,
Draw
close
the
curtains,
then
with
patient
eyes
Bend
o'er
the
hearth;
laugh
at
our
memories,
Or
watch
them
crumbling
in
the
crimson
fire.
