"I have a prayer to make thee--hear the dead. Lady, for God's sake be as beautiful As that white form that dwelleth in my heart; Yea, better still, as that ideal Pure That waketh in thee, when thou prayest God, Or helpest thy poor neighbour. For myself I pray. For if I die and find that she, My woman-glory, lives in common air, Is not so very radiant after all, My sad face will afflict the calm-eyed ghosts, Not used to see such rooted sadness there, At least in fields where I may hope to walk And find good company. Upon my knees I could implore thee--justify my faith In womanhood's white-handed nobleness, And thee, its revelation unto me. "But I bethink me, lady. If thou turn Thy thoughts upon thyself, for the great sake Of purity and conscious whiteness' self, Thou wilt but half succeed. The other half Is to forget the first, and all thyself, Quenching thy moonlight in the blaze of day; Turning thy being full unto thy God; Where shouldst thou quite forget the name of Truth, Yet thou wouldst be a pure, twice holy child, (Twice born of God, once of thy own pure will Arising at the calling Father's voice,) Doing the right with sweet unconsciousness; Having God in thee, a completer soul, Be sure, than thou alone; thou not the less Complete in choice, and individual life, Since that which sayeth _I_, doth call him _Sire._ "Lady, I die--the Father holds me up. It is not much to thee that I should die; (How should it be? for thou hast never looked Deep in my eyes, as I once looked in thine) But it is much that He doth hold me up. "I thank thee, lady, for a gentle look Thou lettest fall upon me long ago. The same sweet look be possible to thee For evermore;--I bless thee with thine own, And say farewell, and go into my grave-- Nay, nay, into the blue heaven of my hopes."