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1850–1919

IMPATIENCE.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

How can I wait until you come to me? The once fleet mornings linger by the way, Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee At my unrest; they seem to pause, and play

Like truant children, while I sigh and say, How can I wait? How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours Refused to pause or loiter with me long;

But now they idly fill their hands with flowers, And make no haste, but slowly stroll among The summer blooms, not heeding my one song, How can I wait?

How can I wait? The nights alone are kind; They reach forth to a future day, and bring Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind; And time speeds by on light and airy wing.

I feast upon your face, I no more sing, How can I wait? How can I wait? The morning breaks the spell A pitying night has flung upon my soul.

You are not near me, and I know full well My heart has need of patience and control; Before we meet, hours, days, and weeks must roll. How can I wait?

How can I wait? Oh, love, how can I wait Until the sunlight of your eyes shall shine Upon my world that seems so desolate? Until your hand-clasp warms my blood like wine;

Until you come again, oh, love of mine, How can I wait?

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IMPATIENCE. · Ella Wheeler Wilcox · Poetry Cove