I thought our love at full, but I did err;
Joy's wreath drooped o'er mine eyes;
I could not
That sorrow in our happy world must
Love's deepest spokesman and interpreter.
But, as a mother feels her child first
Under her heart, so felt I
Deep in my soul another bond to
Thrill with that life we saw depart from her.
O mother of our angel-child! twice dear!
Death knits as well as parts, and still,
I wis,
Her tender radiance shall enfold us here;
Even as the light borne up by inward
Threads the void glooms of space without a fear,
To print on farthest stars her pitying kiss.
