Dear women pass before me in my dreams,
Dear women dead whose red lips I have kissed,
In sweet succession smiling through a mist
Of many unshed tears, but yet it seems
One woman stands behind me, who is she?

She stands behind me silently. Alas,
I cannot see, but feel her presence there,
The soft reflected radiance of her hair
Lights up the gloom, but still she will not pass,
This ever silent woman, who is she?