Or whether sad or joyous be her hours, <br />Yet ever is she good and ever fair. <br />If she be glad, 'tis like a child's wild air, <br />Who claps her hands above a heap of flowers; <br />And if she's sad, it is no cloud that lowers, <br />Rather a saint's pale grace, whose golden hair <br />Gleams like a crown, whose eyes are like a prayer <br />From some quiet window under minister towers. <br /> <br />But ah, Beloved, how shall I be taught <br />To tell this truth in any rhymed line? <br />For words and woven phrases fall to naught, <br />Lost in the silence of one dream divine, <br />Wrapped in the beating wonder of this thought: <br />Even thou, who art so precious, thou art mine!<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-wonder/
