Because that God decreed my death and I shrank back afraid. Have patience, O dead father mine! I did not fear to die-- I wish I were a young dead child and had thy company! I wish I lay beside thy feet, a buried three-year child, And wearing only a kiss of thine upon my lips that smiled! The linden-tree that covers thee might so have shadowed twain, For death itself I did not fear--'t is love that makes the pain: Love feareth death. I was no child, I was betrothed that day; I wore a troth-kiss on my lips I could not give away. How could I bear to lie content and still beneath a stone, And feel mine own betrothed go by--alas! no more mine own-- Go leading by in wedding pomp some lovely lady brave, With cheeks that blushed as red as rose, while mine were white in grave? How could I bear to sit in heaven, on e'er so high a throne, And hear him say to her--to _her_! that else he loveth none? Though e'er so high I sate above, though e'er so low he spake, As clear as thunder I should hear the new oath he might take, That hers, forsooth, were heavenly eyes--ah me, while very dim Some heavenly eyes (indeed of heaven!) would darken down to _him_! _Evil Spirit._ Who told thee thou wast called to death? _Onora (in sleep)._ I sate all night beside thee: The grey owl on the ruined wall shut both his eyes to hide thee, And ever he flapped his heavy wing all brokenly and weak, And the long grass waved against the sky, around his gasping beak. I sate beside thee all the night, while the moonlight lay forlorn Strewn round us like a dead world's shroud in ghastly fragments torn: And through the night, and through the hush, and over the flapping wing, We heard beside the Heavenly Gate the angels murmuring: We heard them say, "Put day to day, and count the days to seven, And God will draw Onora up the golden stairs of heaven. And yet the Evil ones have leave that purpose to defer, For if she has no need of HIM, He has no need of her." _Evil Spirit._ Speak out to me, speak bold and free. _Onora (in sleep)._ And then I heard thee say-- "I count upon my rosary brown the hours thou hast to stay! Yet God permits us Evil ones to put by that decree, Since if thou hast no need of HIM, He has no need of thee: And if thou wilt forgo the sight of angels, verily Thy true love gazing on thy face shall guess what angels be; Nor bride shall pass, save thee" ... Alas!--my father's hand's a-cold, The meadows seem ... _Evil Spirit._ Forbear the dream, or let the vow be told. _Onora (in sleep)._