God send thee peace, Oh, great unhappy heart —
A world away, I pray that thou mayst rest
Softly as on the Well-Belovèd's breast,
Where ever in her wistful dreams thou art.
At dawn my prayer is all for thee, at noon
My very heart and, Oh, at night my tears
For all we walk alone the empty years
Nor meet neath any sun — neath any moon.
Yet must my love go with thee — all apart
From this the life I lend to lesser things;
God send to thee this night beneath its wings,
A little peace, Oh, great unhappy heart.