One Who Is Dead By Dora Sigerson Shorter

One Who Is Dead

Never again, my darling, never again,
Till the gates of God are open for me to pass,
May we join our parted hands that loosed their hold,
Ere Death’s cold fingers closed on thine. Alas!
Feeling palm from palm was slipping in fingers’ hold,
Had you but spoken or I shed a tear,
This had not been, but now you have forgot,
And I remember only I held you dear.

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