Meeting In Winter.

Winter in the world it is,     Round about the unhoped kiss     Whose dream I long have sorrowed o'er;     Round about the longing sore,     That the touch of thee shall turn     Into joy too deep to burn.     Round thine eyes and round thy mouth     Passeth no murmur of the south,     When my lips a little while     Leave thy quivering tender smile,     As we twain, hand holding hand,     Once again together stand.     Sweet is that, as all is sweet;     For the white drift shalt thou meet,     Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own,     Wrapped about with deep-furred gown     In the broad-wheeled chariot:     Then the north shall spare us not;     The wide-reaching waste of snow     Wilder, lonelier yet shall grow     As the reddened sun falls down.     But the warders of the town,     When they flash the torches out     O'er the snow amid their doubt,     And their eyes at last behold     Thy red-litten hair of gold;     Shall they open, or in fear     Cry, "Alas!    What cometh here?     Whence hath come this Heavenly     To tell of all the world undone?"     They shall open, and we shall see     The long street litten scantily     By the long stream of light before     The guest-hall's half-open door;     And our horses' bells shall cease     As we reach the place of peace;     Thou shalt tremble, as at last     The worn threshold is o'er-past,     And the fire-light blindeth thee:     Trembling shalt thou cling to me     As the sleepy merchants stare     At thy cold hands slim and fair,     Thy soft eyes and happy lips     Worth all lading of their ships.     O my love, how sweet and sweet     That first kissing of thy feet,     When the fire is sunk alow,     And the hall made empty now     Groweth solemn, dim and vast!     O my love, the night shall last     Longer than men tell thereof     Laden with our lonely love!