Maurice, weep not, I am not here under this pine tree. <br />The balmy air of spring whispers through the sweet grass, <br />The stars sparkle, the whippoorwill calls, <br />But thou grievest, while my soul lies rapturous <br />In the blest Nirvana of eternal light! <br />Go to the good heart that is my husband, <br />Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love: -- <br />Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him, <br />Wrought out my destiny -- that through the flesh <br />I won spirit, and through spirit, peace. <br />There is no marriage in heaven, <br />But there is love.<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sarah-brown/
