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SUFFERING
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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185

SUFFERING

SONNET

Suffering hath brought me nearer unto thee.
Not till love dies, is risen love sublime.
Love slain and risen again hath power to climb
God's mountains, and to thread the trackless sea.
Now I am dead, love, thou canst listen to me!
Thou canst hear other voices in my rhyme
Than reckless voices of the old past time
When passion dreamed of what was ne'er to be.
Now am I strong, and I can breathe the breath
Unflinching from the icy lips of death
And find the eyes of death a thing most fair
And the strange hands of death a woman's hands
That usher me towards hill-tops of far lands,
And death's shroud is but as thy robing hair.
1882.