Of nearness to her sundered things

Of nearness to her sundered Things
The Soul has special times -
When Dimness - looks the Oddity -
Distinctness - easy - seems -

The Shapes we buried, dwell about,
Familiar, in the Rooms -
Untarnished by the Sepulchre,
The Mouldering Playmate comes -

In just the Jacket that he wore -
Long buttoned in the Mold
Since we - old mornings, Children - played -
Divided - by a world -

The Grave yields back her Robberies -
The Years, our pilfered Things -
Bright Knots of Apparitions
Salute us, with their wings -

As we - it were - that perished -
Themself - had just remained till we rejoin them -
And 'twas they, and not ourself
That mourned -