Poem for June 16, 2030

Since that I may not have

Love on this side the grave,

Let me imagine Love.

Since not mine is the bliss

Of 'claspt hands and lips that kiss,'

Let me in dreams it prove.

What tho' as the years roll

No soul shall melt to my soul,

Let me conceive such thing;

Tho' never shall entwine

Loving arms around mine

Let dreams caresses bring.

To live--it is my doom--

Lonely as in a tomb,

This cross on me was laid;

My God, I know not why;

Here in the dark I lie,

Lonely, yet not afraid.

It has seemed good to Thee

Still to withhold the key

Which opes the way to men;

I am shut in alone,

I make not any moan,

Thy ways are past my ken.

Yet grant me this, to find

The sweetness in my mind

Which I must still forego;

Great God which art above,

Grant me to image Love,--

The bliss without the woe.