Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

(25 November 1875 – 15 August 1928 / Canada)

The Lost Name - Poem by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

THE voice of my true love is low
And exquisitely kind,
Warm as a flower, cold as snow--
I think it is the Wind.

My true love's face is white as mist
That moons have lingered on,
Yet rosy as a cloud, sun-kissed--
I think it is the Dawn.

The breath of my true love is sweet
As gardens at day's close
When dew and dark together meet--
I think it is a Rose.

My true love's heart is wild and shy
And folded from my sight,
A world, a star, a whispering sigh--
I think it is the Night.

My true love's name is lost to me,
The prey of dusty years,
But in the falling Rain I see
And know her by her tears!

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Poem Submitted: Monday, September 6, 2010



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