'Tis told of one whose feet awhile were led <br />Thro' Paradise, that when this earth again <br />Was his with all its unrequited pain, <br />He mourned not for the living splendor fled, <br />But that high memory kept him ever fed! <br />With certitude he somehow should attain <br />The vision beatific, and regain <br />Its music given and its glory shed. <br /> <br />So I, when from the heaven of thine embrace <br />I go in exile, grieve not overmuch, <br />Knowing thou waitest, tho I stand afar <br />And hunger for the mercy of thy face, <br />Thy voice's lure, and rapture of thy touch, <br />O thou my morning and mine evening star!<br /><br />George Sterling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/absence-61/
