Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams, And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away. - Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Each hour until we meet is as a bird
That wings from far his gradual way along
The rustling covert of my soul.

Sudden Light

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before, — How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow's soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall, — I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time's eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death's despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?

The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful and has nobody to thank.