  Why weepest thou, O dear one? Do sorrows press? Beneath the weight of sorrow Is love's caress. Why joyest thou, O dear one? Is love thine own? Ah! 'neath love's deep rejoicing Is sorrow's moan. Indeed, all earth's great passions— Is it not so?— Are circled in the shadow Of joy or woe. But why should we bemoan this? Could otherwise Truth's dazzling light be subject To mortal eyes? Could otherwise we enter The endless light, Beyond the shadowed circle Of mortal sight? |
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