WHEN you and I have play'd the little hour,   Have seen the tall subaltern Life to Death   Yield up his sword; and, smiling, draw the breath, The first long breath of freedom; when the flower Of Recompense hath flutter'd to our feet,   As to an actor's; and, the curtain down,   We turn to face each other all alone— Alone, we two, who never yet did meet, Alone, and absolute, and free: O then,   O then, most dear, how shall be told the tale? Clasp'd hands, press'd lips, and so clasp'd hands again;   No words. But as the proud wind fills the sail,     My love to yours shall reach, then one deep moan     Of joy, and then our infinite Alone.