Exile

My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, —

No, — nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell',

And with the day, distance again expands

Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.

Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.

A dove's wings clung about my heart each night

With surging gentleness, and the blue stone

Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.