| The Visitation... Robert Graves... |
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Drowsing in my chair of disbelief I watch the door as it slowly opens- A trick of the night wind? |
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Your slender body seems a shaft of monlight Against the door as it gently closes. Do you cast no shadow? |
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Your whisper is too soft for credence, Your tread like blossom drifting from a bough, Your touch even softer. |
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You wear that sorrowful and tender mask Which on high mountain tops in heather-flow Entrances lonely shepherds; |
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And though a single word scatters all doubt I quake for wonder at your choice of me: Why, why and why? |
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