I The Curtains Now Are Drawn, And The Spindrift Strikes The Glass, Blown Up The Jagged Pass By The Surly Salt Sou'-West, And The Sneering Glare Is Gone Behind The Yonder Crest, While She Sings To Me: "O The Dream That Thou Art My Love, Be It Thine, And The Dream That I Am Thy Love, Be It Mine, And Death May Come, But Loving Is Divine." Ii I Stand Here In The Rain, With Its Smite Upon Her Stone, And The Grasses That Have Grown Over Women, Children, Men, And Their Texts That "Life Is Vain"; But I Hear The Notes As When Once She Sang To Me: "O The Dream That Thou Art My Love, Be It Thine, And The Dream That I Am Thy Love, Be It Mine, And Death May Come, But Loving Is Divine."