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!