Katharine Lee Bates

Aug. 12, 1859 - Mar. 28, 1929

 

If You Could Come

by Katharine Lee Bates

My love, my love, if you could come once more
From your high place,
I would not question you for heavenly lore,
But, silent, take the comfort of your face.

I would not ask you if those golden spheres
In love rejoice,
If only our stained star hath sin and tears,
But fill my famished hearing with your voice.

One touch of you were worth a thousand creeds.
My wound is numb
Through toil-pressed day, but all night long it bleeds
In aching dreams, and still you cannot come.

Source:

Yellow Clover: A Book Of Remembrance
Copyright 1922
E. P. Dutton & Company, New York
 
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