Bend Low and Hark

Bend low and hark with me, my Dear,
How the winds sigh!
A voice is on them that I fear,
It brings the by-gone days so near,
Like a soul's cry.

Those whom we bury out of sight—
How still they lie!
Beyond the reaches of the Light,
Outside the realm of Day and Night—
Do they not die?

Shall we unbar the long-shut door—
You, Dear, or I?—
Could Love be what Love was before
If we should call them back once more,
And they reply?

Would they Life's largess claim again?
... They draw too nigh.
Oh, winds, be still! You shall not pain
My heart with that long-hushed refrain
As you sweep by.

The Dead have had their shining day—
Why should they try
To listen to the words we say—
To breathe their blight upon our May—
. . .Yet the winds sigh.