I Slept With You Last Night
I slept with you again last night; perhaps you did not know.
You’d gone before the morning light; I didn’t hear you go.
So silently you crept away, I didn’t hear you speak.
Did you feel, before you went, my breath upon your cheek?
Feel my breath upon your cheek; as I felt yours on mine?
Your leaving: was it accident, or was it by design?
I slept with you again last night and felt the warmth of you
Beside me in my quiet room, and all that long night through
My eyes sought out the shadow there; the form of your dear face;
And then perhaps I’d slept myself; but woke to find no trace,
No trace of you remained; no hint of where your head had pressed;
Nor heard, nor felt the rhythmic pulse; your heart within your breast.
There was no sign that you had gone; no sound of closing door;
The dog lay in her basket still, where she had lain before;
She turned a sleepy eye to me, expressive face bemused.
No sound of footfall on the stair; the silent house refused
To give its poignant secret up; and in premorning gloom
The dog sat up and stretched and then she moved across the room
Rested her chin upon the sheet where you so often lay
Her tender eyes, those amber orbs; those eyes that seemed to say
That though she knew you should be there; she could not understand
Your absence, and her gentle muzzle sought my outstretched hand.
You’d vanished like a spectre; like the early morning dew.
Or had I slept alone again? …alone and without you.
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