Love and Sorrow

I thought our love at full, but I did err;

Joy's wreath drooped o'er mine eyes; I could not see

That sorrow in our happy world must be

Love's deepest spokesman and interpreter.

But, as a mother feels her child first stir

Under her heart, so felt I instantly

Deep in my soul another bond to thee

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 bliss

Threads the void glooms of space without a fear,

To print on farthest stars her pitying kiss.