Sometimes my heart grows faint with longing, dear—
Longing to see thy face, to touch thy hand.
But mountains rise between us; leagues of land
Stretch on and on where mighty lakes lie clear
In the far spaces, and great forests rear
Their sombre crowns on many a lonely strand!
Yet, O my fair child, canst thou understand,
Thou whose dear place was once beside me here,
How yet I dare not pray that thou and I
Again may dwell together as of old?
There is a gate between us, locked and barred,
Over which we may not climb; and standing nigh
Is the white angel Sorrow, who doth hold
The only key that may unlock its ward!