The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (5.1895)

By Norman Gale 281

Oceans part us, leagues divide us ; but our spirits know a link ;
Why should you not come, my dearest, thinking warmly as you
think ?

Must I call you by a singing who should call you by my soul,

Call you by a part, beloved, who should call you by the whole ?

By this pear-tree robed for bridal, by the sun and by the dew,

By the nightingale that teils me midnight melodies of you,

By the virgin streamlet flowing ever faithful to its spouse,

Here I set my heart before you, promise of a happy house !

Is your blood the blood ot battle ? Have you courage for the
fight ?

Can the lane content you always with its barren and its bright ?
Do you feel the glow of mating in the heart where I would be,
When you hear me calling, calling, calling you to come to me ?

Well I know my spirit travels over meadowland and steep,

Soon its whisper in your tresses will arouse my dove from sleep ;
’Tis a message calls to daring, ’tis a voice that bids you wake—
Let it fall as balm upon you, balm to help the strong heart-break.

Come at once o’er mead and mountain, sending first that ghostly
cheer

Feit by souls that kiss together tho’ no earthly lips are near ;
Bring my country Heaven, dearest, finer fruit and sweeter dew,
Bring across the leagues that part us all the honey, love, of you.

Take me, trust me. Stars may fail us, friends may leave us.
What is this ?

God shall watch us plight together with, as only priest, a kiss.

If