She had become my Sabbath

All Last Night

All last night I had quiet

In a fragrant dream and warm:

She had become my Sabbath,

And round my neck, her arm.

I knew the warmth in my dreaming;

The fragrance, I suppose,

Was her hair about me,

Or else she wore a rose.

Her hair I think, for likest

Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring

Loitering down the wet woodways

Treads it sauntering.

No light, nor any speaking;

Fragrant only and warm.

Enough to know my lodging,

The white Sabbath of her arm.

Lascelles Abercrombie