Patience

by Edith Wharton

　　So many days that I have grown to trace

　　The lines of sad, sweet beauty in her face,

　　And all its veiled depths to understand.

　　Not beautiful is she to eyes profane;

　　Silent and unrevealed her holy charms;

　　But, like a mother's, her serene, strong arms

　　Uphold my footsteps on the path of pain.

　　I long to cry, -- her soft voice whispers, "Nay!"

　　I seek to fly, but she restrains my feet;

　　In wisdom stern, yet in compassion sweet,

　　She guides my helpless wanderings, day by day.

　　O my Beloved, life's golden visions fade,

　　And one by one life's phantom joys depart;

　　They leave a sudden darkness in the heart,

　　And patience fills their empty place instead.