I. <br /> <br />I SHALL not paint them. God them sees, and I: <br />No other can, nor need. They have no form, <br />I may not close with human kisses warm <br />Their eyes which shine afar or from on high, <br />But never will shine nearer till I die. <br />How long, how long! See, I am growing old; <br />I have quite ceased to note in my hair's fold <br />The silver threads that there in ambush lie; <br />Some angel faces bent from heaven would pine <br />To trace the sharp lines graven upon mine; <br />What matter? in the wrinkles ploughed by care <br />Let age tread after, sowing immortal seeds; <br />All this life's harvest yielded, wheat or weeds, <br />Is reaped, methinks: at my little field lies bare. <br /> <br />II. <br /> <br />BUT in the night time, 'twixt it and the stars, <br />The angel faces still come glimmering by; <br />No death-pale shadow, no averted eye <br />Marking the inevitable doom that bars <br />Me from them. Not a cloud their aspect mars; <br />And my sick spirit walks with them hand in hand <br />By the cool waters of a pleasant land: <br />Sings with them o'er again, without its jars, <br />The psalm of life, that ceased, as one by one <br />Their voices, dropping off, left mine alone <br />With dull monotonous wail to grieve the air. <br />O solitary love, that art so strong, <br />I think God will have pity on thee erelong, <br />And take thee where thou'lt find those angel faces fair.<br /><br />Dinah Maria Mulock Craik<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/angel-faces/
