Without, you seem forgotten. Am I sad
Or happy? None can tell. The lonely days
Recur, and draw me on the beaten ways
Of all who strive and toil. The things I had
Remain; all daily happenings, good or bad,
Fall as they did: success and loss, delays
That sweeten victory: the balance sways
Unceasingly, makes heavy, or makes glad.
And this is life, such as the world demands.
Within,‘ tis otherwise; for in the far
Depths where my soul recoiled sits, there are
No echoes of such wisdom; there my hands
Are folded, and in yours: I seek your eyes,
Your voice, your smile.... Within,‘ tis otherwise.