THROUGH THE DUSK TOWARD HER I WAS SLIPPING

Through the dusk toward her I was slipping,
By a longing and dream driven flame;
When a voice to my hearing came gripping,
Like a pillar of salt I became.

And the bride had been waiting for me,
Still she languished alone, staying late;
To vain doubtings surrendered was she,
Yet in faith she continued her wait.

And forth like a whirlwind the voice broke,
Then upborne was my pillar of salt;
And through sleep there arose a soft stroke—
I did know: ‘twas my burial-fault.

From my limbs shook the fetters of brine,
Headlong downward in swiftness I fell;
By her window I shattered the line—
And embraced her, and upward we swelled.