Outre Mort

You came to me in visions of the night,Your pale brow bound by a bright ring of flame;High, unapproachable, and dazzling white,You came.

I rose and called you by your dearest name;—"Tell me," I said, "how go the hours' flightIn that far land? Do men strive there for Fame

And Love? Then I lost sense and sight:You bent to me,—your kisses were the sameAs when, long since, to be my life's delightYou came.