I think if I should cross the room,
Far as fear;
Should stand beside you like a thought-
Touch you, Dear!

Like a fancy. To your sad heart
It would seem
That my vision passed and prayed you,
Or my dream.

Then you would look with lonely eyes-
Lift your head-
And you would stir, and sigh, and say-
'She is dead.'

Baffled by death and love, I lean
Through the gloom.
O Lord of life! am I forbid
To cross the room?