Not only till the days are done Of our communion
here ; But after, though we singly brave The passage perilous, That small seclusion of the grave Has room for both of us. The dust of husband and of wife That slowly mingles there.
One may go first, and one remain To hail a second call; But nothing now can make us twain, • Whatever may befall: For we have long since pass'd the bounds Of Self, of Time, of Space, And felt the freedom that surrounds . Love's final dwelling place.
ARTHUR MUN BY.