A Ghost

I

Now come and haunt my quiet room 
With light and shade and red-rose bloom: 
Light of your healing eyes and shade 
Of dark hair free from knot and braid. 
Like lips with some sweet word that part 
A red rose opens on your heart. 

II 

Out of your peace be manifest,
Into the dulness of my rest. 
I shall not win at all my heaven 
If no least glimmer of you leaven 
My loneliness. Come to me, Dear, 
Lest I should grow contented here. 

III

Brighten again my dusty books 
With kindness of your gracious looks 
Renew the youth of my dim air 
With your deep smile, that is aware 
Of patience (borage in life's wine), 
And stronger love than this of mine. 

IV 

Ay, stronger love that would descend 
Into the pit to save a friend,
Or serve, not saving; love that cleaves 
Even when faith no more believes,
I love till death, past judgment you — 
Is He not kind that made you true?