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1876–1944

THE ANGEL OF

Helen Hay Whitney

A Man once loved a Woman, in the days of old, Our bond is the strongest in the world, they said — The Angels up above Are jealous of our love,

Perhaps they are wishing we were dead, overhead. So they loved for a Time and the passing of a Time, And the Angel of Indifference, smiling down, saw their fire, And he covered for a space

With his sombre wings his face, That they twain might have of love all desire, without tire. But love's perfect joy within them burned at last to a flame Till they longed for a breeze that would gently cool the heart.

For absence! cooling snow They sighed apart and low, Tho’ they murmured still their love, hand and heart loth to part. But at length they prayed together to the calm Angel — pale,

Ah — we yearn, scorched and weary, for the peace of thy breast. For that land where love seems But the shadow of dreams, Where all sleep in the silver of the West, give us rest.

And he heard, and he bore them to the cool grey heights, Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast, And gave them for their token The peace of dreams unbroken

Where their souls, his faithful vassals, rest at last, from the past.

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THE ANGEL OF · Helen Hay Whitney · Poetry Cove