Dear Ghost, across a wind-swept sphere
You wander back again to me,
And I am not afraid, for see
I bid you rest beside me here!

I press your icy lips to mine,
Since you and I are almost one
Can I condemn what you have done
To render fruitless the divine?

Some day perchance our weary task
May finish, and we two will stand
Before the Maker, hand in hand,
There will be much that we shall ask !

More verses by Radclyffe Hall