Outre Mort by Marie Van Vorst

You came to me in visions of the night, / Your pale brow bound by a bright ring of flame; / High, unapproachable, and dazzling white, / You came.

I rose and called you by your dearest name; -- / "Tell me," I said, "how go the hours' flight / In that far land? Do men strive there for Fame

And Love? " Then I lost sense and sight: / You bent to me, -- your kisses were the same / As when, long since, to be my life's delight / You came.