I listen for him through the rain, 
And in the dusk of starless hours 
I know that he will come again; 
Loth was he ever to forsake me: 
He comes with glimmering of flowers
And stir of music to awake me. 

Spirit of purity, he stands 
As once he lived in charm and grace: 
I may not hold him with my hands, 
Nor bid him stay to heal my sorrow;
Only his fair, unshadowed face 
Abides with me until to-morrow.