Gone? Out of sight? But where,
O hearts that grieve and yearn?
No place to turn
outside Love's atmosphere.
No lonely, distant "there"
On resurrection morn.
That which was never born
could never die. No fear
Of death, made obsolete
By Science, interrupts
Being or corrupts
The truly animate.
One stood—“the doors were shut"—
Not seen to grief-dulled eyes
Till they could visualise
presence inviolate.
