Poetry Archives

The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,
 Are as a string of pearls to me;
I count them over, every one apart,
        My rosary.

Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer,
 To still a heart in absence wrung;
I tell each bead unto the end—and there
        A cross is hung.

Oh, memories that bless—and burn!
 Oh, barren gain—and bitter loss!
I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn
        To kiss the cross,
         Sweetheart,
        To kiss the cross.