FROM MY ROOM

I love you, dear. . . .
Here, alone in my room tonight, it is all that matters,
Out through my window, vaguely hushed, the city
clatters,
Telling ever its tale of woe and mirth,
Sighing ever its song of death and birth,
Singing ever its potent, mad refrain,
Swept with tears and the bitter weight of pain.

Here in my room I kneel, alone, to pray,
But there seems very little, dear, to say
Even to God. So, kneeling by my bed,
I think dim thoughts, and dream long dreams instead.
Wide-eyed I kneel and watch the candle flame,
Making swift shadows on the wall; your name
Throbs in my heart, and makes my pulse to thrill --
Wide-eyed I kneel, with soul a-light, until
Somewhere a clock starts chiming. . . . It is
late. . . .
Out through the dark wan tenderness and hate
Press pale kisses upon the city's lips --
Dawn comes creeping, the weary nighttime slips
Furtively by, like some hurt thief with plunder. . . .
Dear, I cross to my window, and I wonder
Whether you are asleep, or if you lie,