Hildegarde Flanner

I HAVE spoken with the dead;

From the silence of my bed

I have heard them in the night.

Their voices are as white

As altar candles. Their voices are as gold as wheat,

And clustered in the dark their words are sweet

As ripened fruit. Their voices are the color of dim rain

Over grass where spring has lain.

Their speaking is an orchard of delight.

I have heard them in the night;

Their lips bloomed into heavy song

That hung like bells above me. You are wrong

Who say the dead lie still:

I heard them sing until

The cup of silence fell in two and lay

Broken by beauty of what dead men say.

There is no loveliness I cannot see.

There is no wall too stern for me.

There is no door that can withstand

The lifted symbol of my hand.

I know an ancient shibboleth:

I pass, for I have talked with Death!