You Did Not Know

I know this word is guilty as I feel,
but trust me for a moment; “You come, too.”
In wayside nook, seraphic, here I kneel
to you, who isn’t you, and break for you
but never really you; you did not know.
How could another know the thing you did?
The whole affair’s under a foot of snow.
The relics in the attic under lid
are cold and dead but dreaming of a place
you helped me see, to feel, to live to taste,
to wake at day, reflect upon a face,
and write a sonnet, lest it be in waste.
A hundred days I woke, and this I learned:
I give a verse; a verse will be returned.