MY faithful dead come back to me in dreams, Just as they were before they went away: Gait, gesture, look, they are the same, it seems, As when they fellowed with me, day by day. I marvel at their semblance, hold my breath Lest, if I breathe, the vision should depart; Almost they give me faith there is no death, But only love that leaps from heart to heart. But, oh, I would not hold them as they come Briefly beside my bed and bless my sight, Speaking of little things, recalling some Forgotten moment touched with old delight! A hand-clasp, yes, sweet words, even a kiss ... No more, they must not stay; as light steals through My room, I gladly let them go, and this Is all I ever ask of them to do. They must go back again. I hold too dear Their memory to break the tender spell; I could not bear to see them suffer here, My changeless dead, who rest so long and well. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOT OUR GOOD LUCK by ROBINSON JEFFERS BUT NOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE SEA LOVER by SARA TEASDALE OLD MAN by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER THE LILY, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |