Forgiven

I dreamed so dear a dream of you last night!
I thought you came. I was so glad, so gay,
I whispered, 'Those were foolish words to say;
I meant them not. I cannot bear the sight
Of our dear face. I cannot meet the light
Of your dear eyes upon me. Sit, I pray-
Sit here beside me; turn your look away,
And lay your cheek on mine,' Till morning bright
We sat so, and we did not speak. I knew
All was forgiven, so nestled there
With your arms round. Swift the sweet hours flew.
At last I waked, and sought you everywhere.
How long, dear, think you, that my glad cheek will
Burn-as it burns with our cheek's pressure still?

by Helen Hunt Jackson

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