Poem by Stephen Phillips

The Apparition

1.  
 
MY dead Love came to me, and said:      
    “God gives me one hour’s rest,      
To spend upon the earth with thee:      
    How shall we spend it best?”      
     
“Why as of old,” I said, and so      
    We quarrelled as of old.      
But when I turned to make my peace,      
    That one short hour was told.      
 
2.  
     
NINE nights she did not come to me      
    The heaven was filled with rain;      
And as it fell, and fell, I said,      
    “She will not come again.”      
     
Last night she came, not as before,      
    But in a strange attire;      
Weary she seemed, and very faint,      
    As though she came from fire.      
 
3.      
     
SHE is not happy! It was noon;      
    The sun fell on my head:      
And it was not an hour in which      
    We think upon the dead.      
     
She is not happy! I should know      
    Her voice, much more her cry;      
And close beside me a great rose      
    Had just begun to die.      
     
She is not happy! As I walked,      
    Of her I was aware:      
She cried out, like a creature hurt,      
    Close by me in the air.      
 
4.     
      
UNDER the trembling summer stars,      
    I turned from side to side;      
When she came in and sat with me,      
    As though she had not died.      
 
And she was kind to me and sweet,      
    She had her ancient way;      
Remembered how I liked her hand      
    Amid my hair to stray.   
      
She had forgotten nothing, yet      
    Older she seemed, and still:      
All quietly she took my kiss,      
    Even as a mother will.      
      
She rose, and in the streak of dawn      
    She turned as if to go:      
But then again came back to me;      
    My eyes implored her so!      
      
She pushed the hair from off my brow,      
    And looked into my eyes.      
“I live in calm,” she said, “and there      
    Am learning to be wise.”      
 
“Why grievest thou? I pity thee      
        Still turning on this bed.”      
“And art thou happy?” I exclaimed.      
    “Alas!” she sighed, and fled.      
 
5. 
      
I WOKE: she had been standing by,      
    With wonder on her face.      
She came toward me, very bright,      
    As from a blessed place.      
 
She touched me not, but smiling spoke,      
    And softly as before.      
“They gave me drink from some slow stream;      
    I love thee now no more.”      
 
6.     
     
THE other night she hurried in,      
    Her face was wild with fear:      
“Old friend,” she said, “I am pursued,      
    May I take refuge here?”   

1. Poems
2. The Kaiser and Belgium
3. The Question
4. The Hush
5. Beautiful Lie the Dead

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