Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/496

SHADOW-LAND Might we but hear

The hovering angels' high imagined chorus,

Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear,

One radiant vista of the realm before us,—

With one rapt moment given to see and hear,

Ah, who would fear?

Were we quite sure

To find the peerless friend who left us lonely,

Or there, by some celestial stream as pure,

To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only,—

This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure,

Who would endure?

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