Farther apart, each day, our lives are drifting;
Farther apart at every set of sun.
The clouds between us show no signs of lifting,
But droop, and gather shadows, one by one.
Drifting apart! the visions that I've cherished,
Within my loving, foolish heart for years,
At those two meaning words, have rudely perished,
And in their place is naught but bitter tears.
I do not weep--I do not sigh, and languish,
And murmur at the hard decree of fate.
I walk my way, in silent, smiling anguish,
Knowing remorse, and tears, are all too late.
But oh, my darling! I am only human,
And though 'tis weakness, I do love you yet.
Mine is the heart, of clinging, constant woman,
Whose lot it is to love, and not forget.
I know that we can never stem the current,
That bore the sunshine of my life away;
Our feet can never cross the unbridged torrent
That flows between us, wider every day.
Perhaps, when we have passed the heavenly portal,
And all our tears are dried by Christ, the Friend,
And we have entered on the life immortal,
Perhaps our path ways There may meet, and blend
I cannot tell; the mystic, grand To-morrow
Was never meant for earthly, mortal eyes.
But it is sweet, to think all tears and sorrow,
Will vanish at the dawn of heavenly skies.
Shells by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Milwaukee: Hauser & Storey, 1873.
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