Love that seeth best through tears,
Love by holy sorrow shriven,
Knows that length of living years
Could not give what Death has given.

What is fair, the seasons fret;
What is strong, like glass is shivered;
But immortal youth is set
On her brows from care delivered.

Blithe by fragrant ways she trod
Up the hill her loss leaves arid;
Where the summit touches God,
Slipped her sandals off and tarried.

Life full-blossomed into bliss,
Every hurt with love to heal it,
— Time, too poor for bettering this,
Bade his brother-angel seal it.