I br br The curtains now are drawn, br And the spindrift strikes the glass, br Blown up the jagged pass br By the surly salt sou'-west, br And the sneering glare is gone br Behind the yonder crest, br While she sings to me: br 'O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine, br And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine, br And death may come, but loving is divine.' br br II br br I stand here in the rain, br With its smite upon her stone, br And the grasses that have grown br Over women, children, men, br And their texts that 'Life is vain'; br But I hear the notes as when br Once she sang to me: br 'O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine, br And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine, br And death may come, but loving is divine.