February 21st, 1912
Can it be true the triple years have passed
With dull and laggard steps above your head,
And yet, my Own, I cannot make you dead!
Light of my life, the glamour that you cast
Is with me still — I hold it close and fast,
And, if from Earth it has not wholly fled,
May not the sunshine which your presence shed
Break through this leaden loneliness at last?
Not that I would my bitter pain deny,
For Love is Pain and I would pay its price,
The poignant price of what was once so sweet!
The Cross that Christ Himself did sanctify
Symbolled the ardor of Love's sacrifice,
And still can lift us, kneeling at His feet!
With dull and laggard steps above your head,
And yet, my Own, I cannot make you dead!
Light of my life, the glamour that you cast
Is with me still — I hold it close and fast,
And, if from Earth it has not wholly fled,
May not the sunshine which your presence shed
Break through this leaden loneliness at last?
Not that I would my bitter pain deny,
For Love is Pain and I would pay its price,
The poignant price of what was once so sweet!
The Cross that Christ Himself did sanctify
Symbolled the ardor of Love's sacrifice,
And still can lift us, kneeling at His feet!
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