SONNETS OF SORROW

VIII

At last a dream--at last a dream of you!
Against the black black curtain of the night
I saw you stand. 'Twas but a dream, I knew,
And yet my hungry eyes fed on the sight,
My aching arms embraced you, and I cried,
"How good, how good God is to let you come
And bridge the chasm that has seemed so wide!"
You listened smiling, but you lips were dumb.

And then you vanished. All alone I stood
(as evermore I stand, alone, apart,)
Repeating softly, "God was good, so good,
To let me dream of you," Oh, ravenous heart,
How pitiful, how pitiful it seems
To feed such hunger with but husks of dreams!

Sonnets of sorrow and triumph. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
New York: George H. Doran, 1918.


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