Poetry Archives

Come closer, kind, white, long-familiar friend,
  Embrace me, fold me to thy broad, soft breast.
Life has grown strange and cold, but thou dost bend
  Mild eyes of blessing wooing to my rest.
So often hast thou come, and from my side
So many hast thou lured, I only bide
Thy beck, to follow glad thy steps divine.
  Thy world is peopled for me; this world’s bare.
  Through all these years my couch thou didst prepare.
Thou art supreme Love—kiss me—I am thine!