For a season there must be pain-- <br /> For a little, little space <br /> I shall lose the sight of her face, <br /> Take back the old life again <br /> While She is at rest in her place. <br /> <br /> For a season this pain must endure, <br /> For a little, little while <br /> I shall sigh more often than smile <br /> Till time shall work me a cure, <br /> And the pitiful days beguile. <br /> <br /> For that season we must be apart, <br /> For a little length of years, <br /> Till my life's last hour nears, <br /> And, above the beat of my heart, <br /> I hear Her voice in my ears. <br /> <br /> But I shall not understand-- <br /> Being set on some later love, <br /> Shall not know her for whom I strove, <br /> Till she reach me forth her hand, <br /> Saying, "Who but I have the right?" <br /> And out of a troubled night <br /> Shall draw me safe to the land.<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-widower/
