Poetry Archives

With all the fairest angels nearest God,
 The ineffable true of heart around the throne,
 There shall I find you waiting when the flown
Dream leaves my heart insentient as the clod;
And when the grief-retracing ways I trod
 Become a shining path to thee alone,
 My weary feet, that seemed to drag as stone,
Shall once again, with wings of fleetness shod,
Fare on, beloved, to find you!  Just beyond
 The seraph throng await me, standing near
  The gentler angels, eager and apart;
Be there, near God’s own fairest, with the fond
 Sweet smile that was your own, and let me hear
  Your voice again and clasp you to my heart.