WHO do you think stands
watching
The snow-tops shining rosy
In heaven, now that the darkness
Takes all but the
tallest posy?
Who then sees the
two-winged
Boat down there, all alone
And asleep on the snow’s last
shadow,
Like a moth on a stone?
The olive-leaves, light as
gad-flies,
Have all gone dark, gone black.
And now in the dark my soul to
you
Turns back.
To you, my little
darling,
To you, out of Italy.
For what is loveliness, my love,
Save you have it
with me!
So, there’s an oxen
wagon
Comes darkly into sight:
A man with a lantern, swinging
A little
light.
What does he see, my
darling
Here by the darkened lake?
Here, in the sloping shadow
The mountains
make?
He says not a word, but
passes,
Staring at what he sees.
What ghost of us both do you think he
saw
Under the olive trees?
All the things that are lovely
—
The things you never knew —
I wanted to gather them one by one
And bring them to
you.
But never now, my
darling
Can I gather the mountain-tips
From the twilight like
half-shut lilies
To hold to your lips.
And never the two-winged
vessel
That sleeps below on the lake
Can I catch like a moth between
my hands
For you to take.
But hush, I am not
regretting:
It is far more perfect now.
I’ll whisper the ghostly truth
to the world
And tell them how
I know you here in the
darkness,
How you sit in the throne of my eyes
At peace, and look out of the
windows
In glad surprise.