WHAT distance parteth thee and me!
It is not space, it is not time--
Death hath not put between our souls
His mystery cruel and sublime.
The love I bore thee thrills me yet
In ancient dearness unforgot,
Yet day by day my heart implores
For that--which cometh not.

Time, touching all with tender hand,
Will doubtless heal this hurt of mine,
Including this torn human love
In yearnings more divine.
Time, bringing blossom to the rose,
And seed-time unto flowers,
Will doubtless take the sting from out
These long impatient hours.

In the cool shadow of his wings
Our feverish sorrows sink to sleep,
He gives us faith in nobler things
Than Nature, but doth keep,
As in some tower made strong to hold
A king's rich gems, above
The earthly air which waxeth cold,
Our tender human love.

Then noble Time, in whom I trust,
More noble Love, my strength and stay,
I will beseech thee till thou must
To my strong hope give way;
But this I know thou wilt not do,
How stern soe'er thou be,
Thou canst not, while my heart is true,
Wring all my hope from me.