Last night I dreamed this dream: That I was dead; And as I slept, forgot of man and God, That other dreamless sleep of rest, I heard a footstep on the sod, As of one passing overhead,-- And lo, thou, Dear, didst touch me on the breast, Saying: "What shall I write against thy name That men should see?" Then quick the answer came, "I was beloved of thee." Dear Giver of Thyself when at thy side, I see the path beyond divide, Where we must walk alone a little space, I say: "Now am I strong indeed To wait with only memory awhile, Content, until I see thy face,--" Yet turn, as one in sorest need, T…
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