The wise ones tell me that my heart's wild clamour
Must change to calm before I feel you near.
While Pain beats on it with its hob-nailed hammer,
How can I find the way to quiet, dear?
I sit down in the silence praying, praying
"God's Will be done, but give me help at length."
I wait, but Pain, that mighty hammer swaying,
Deprives the silence of all healing strength.

Then when I turn to action, swift and cruel
Leaps Memory in my path and bids me stand,
And challenges my bleeding heart to duel,
Knowing how I must suffer at its hand.
Oh, my Beloved, let this conflict cease
And show me how to find the path to peace.

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

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