HER heart was light as human heart can be, When blushingly she listened to the praise Of him who talked of love in those sweet days When first she kept a lover's company. That was hope's spring-time; now its flowers are dead, And she grown tired of life before its close, Weaves melancholy stories out of woes, Across whose dismal threads her heart has bled. Yet even for such we need not quite despair Since from our wrong God can bring forth his right; And He, though all are precious in his sight, Doth give the uncared-for his peculiar care. So, in the good life that shall follow this, He, being love, may make her love to be One golden thread, spun out eternally, Through her white fingers, trembling with their bliss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON METRICAL FEET by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE INTELLECT by RALPH WALDO EMERSON CITY TREES by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY HENRY HUDSON'S QUEST [1609] by BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON THE PIONEER by HENRY MEADE BLAND THE COMING OF LOVE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |