I know that a soul in the making
Must drink deep of sorrow and pain;
And the joys of the body forsaking,
Must suffer and never complain.
I know that my spirit is waking
To the glory that waits me in space;
Yet the heart of me, dearest, is breaking
For the sight of your face.

I know that by weeping and sighing
We hamper the search of a Soul;
And I know I am certainly trying
To let you attain your goal.
But I think you have paused in your flying,
And somehow it makes me rejoice;
Yet the heart in me, dearest, is dying
For the sound of your voice.

I know you are near me forever,
I know you are helping alway.
You strengthen each righteous endeavour,
And counsel me day after day.
But these fetters of clay I would sever
By the touch of death's infinite power,
For the heart of me, dearest, can never
Know peace till that hour.

Poems of affection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1920.

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