Classic Poem

SEVEN TIMES FIVE. WIDOWHOOD .

I SLEEP and rest, my heart makes moan
Before I am well awake;
" Let me bleed! O let me alone,
Since I must not break! "

For children wake, though fathers sleep,
With a stone at foot and at head:
O sleepless God, forever keep,
Keep both living and dead!

I lift mine eyes, and what to see
But a world happy and fair;
I have not wished it to mourn with me —
Comfort is not there.

O what anear but golden brooms,
And a waste of reedy rills;
O what afar but the fine glooms
On the rare blue hills!

I shall not die, but live forlore —
How bitter it is to part!
O to meet thee, my love, once more! —
O my heart, my heart!

No more to hear, no more to see!
O that an echo might wake
And waft one note of thy psalm to me
Ere my heart-strings break!

I should know it how faint soe'er,
And with angel voices blent;
O once to feel thy spirit anear,
I could be content!

Or once between the gates of gold,
While an angel entering trod,
But once — thee sitting to behold
On the hills of God.