“IfIf your hand came, dead in the dead of night,And touched my forehead, waking me to seeYou standing dead there in the dead of night,I who fear ghosts would have no fear at all.I'd greet you with the tenderest helloAnd you would smile, though sad. And then you'd go.There would be nothing deathly in your deathFor your love always was the laughing sortThat quickened life and would not die with death.And when you'd gone, I would not want to weep -- That loving gaiety would still be thereFilling with its own peace the quickened air.”