Poor creature, come!
I should think shame to be afraid
Of what the waters and the winds have made
Flesh of a mortal man, lately my fellow:
Although the starving waves have stained you sallow
Or salty blue, indeed I shall not care,
Nor wonder at the seaweed in your hair,
Nor if your eyes be blind:
I swear I shall not mind
Such trifles, nor unkindly turn away
If I should find my shift dripping with spray.
Come, ghost, and lay
Your head upon my heart; you have come home.
Have cruel fishes made your kisses dumb?
You must not weep, my dear; 'tis bitter harm
They've done you, but the coverlid is warm,
And pity, softer than a feather bed,
Is comfortably spread
To soothe your body which the sea has broken;
Come, 'tis the truth I've spoken.
In this small cottage all the crying latches
Have told of you, and seawater in patches
Upon the stairs preserves the very print
Of your lost step; my pillows hold the dint
Of your cold, aching, and bewildered skull:
I'll never ask if you were beautiful
In life, or straight and slender:
Come, let me render,
As tenderly as my desires can
Peace to the shattered image of a man.
In this small cottage you and I alone
Move among wood and stone
And senseless things, and I alone am living,
Young, and unwounded; will you be forgiving
Of that unequal wrong
Which murdered you, and left me whole and strong?
It is some sad mistake;
Come, ghost, and take
The little warmth of my more vital limbs:
No creature flies or swims
Which can dismay my heart; you have come home.
I never was afraid of any ghost;
Dear love, you are not lost;
Nay, do not shiver; do not ever doubt.
Now blow the candle out;
Come to my bed;
I shall not be afraid.