18
IN ILLNESS.
So much a thing to be desired;
But I have toiled the wide world through,
My whole heart aches, and I am tired;
The aims to which my soul aspired
Seem poor and small:
Only Love saves us, after all!
But I have toiled the wide world through,
My whole heart aches, and I am tired;
The aims to which my soul aspired
Seem poor and small:
Only Love saves us, after all!
And mine has been so full of gloom,
Dear heart,—
So twinned with sorrow or with fear,
It never came to perfect bloom;
And now the harvest time is here,
My fields lie bare. But you are dear,
And I could die
Upon your breast without a sigh.
Dear heart,—
So twinned with sorrow or with fear,
It never came to perfect bloom;
And now the harvest time is here,
My fields lie bare. But you are dear,
And I could die
Upon your breast without a sigh.
Now hush, O hush! I kiss your tears,
Dear heart.
This grief is more than I can claim:
Whether I live to threescore years,
Or perish with this candle-flame,
I love and thank you all the same:
Then, love, be still,
And let it be as God may will.
Dear heart.
This grief is more than I can claim:
Whether I live to threescore years,
Or perish with this candle-flame,
I love and thank you all the same:
Then, love, be still,
And let it be as God may will.
