Love sat like a boy by my pillow,
And murmured a song in mine ears
Of death on the breasts of the billow
And darkness and desolate years.
His Sweet eyes were streaming with sorrow,
His tresses were tangled and torn;
On his fair brows the fear of tomorrow
Was fixed like the tooth of a thorn.
He smiled at the close of his singing;
He kissed me with kisses of air:
When I woke in the dawn, I was wringing
Vain hands in a passion of prayer.