AS the still hours toward midnight wore, She called to me -- her voice was low And soft as snow that falls in snow -- She called my name, and nothing more. Sleeping, I felt the life-blood stir With piercing anguish all my heart -- I felt my dreams like curtains part, And straightway passed through them to her. Yet, 'twixt my answer and her call, My thoughts had time enough to run Through everything that I had done From my youth upward. One and all. The harmful words which I had said -- The sinful thoughts, the looks untrue, Straight into fearful phantoms grew, And ranged themselves about her bed. Weeping, I called her names most sweet, But still the phantoms, evil-eyed, Between us stood, and though I died, I could not even touch her feet. My soul within me seemed to groan -- My cheek was burning up with shame -- I called each dark deed by its name, And humbly owned it for my own. My tongue was loosed -- my heart was free -- I took the little shining head Betwixt my palms -- the phantoms fled. And Heaven was moved, and came to me. |