But, when the church was hushed in the night wind, <br />And all were gone who might his zeal disclaim, <br />Or hinder the firm purpose of his mind, <br />A silent man among the tombs he came, <br />Stooping to listen if so be some sound <br />Of living thing with speech or power to breathe <br />Should issuant be from the dark underground,-- <br />And last to hers. There on that home of death <br />He kneeled him down and called aloud to her, <br />``Natalia, O Natalia, my beloved, <br />Am I not here thy soul's petitioner <br />Whom thou so lovedst?'' And around him moved <br />The phantoms of the night. And the wind's sigh <br />Answered his prayer, ``Beloved, it is I.''<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/natalia-s-resurrection-sonnet-xxiii/
