Deep, Love, yea, very deep. br And in the dark exiled, br I have no sense of light but still to creep br And know the breast, but not the eyes. Thy child br Saw ne'er his mother near, nor if she smiled; br But only feels her weep. br br Yet clouds and branches green br There be aloft, somewhere, br And winds, and angel birds that build between, br As I believe--and I will not despair; br For faith is evidence of things not seen. br Love! if I could be there! br br I will be patient, dear. br Perchance some part of me br Puts forth aloft and feels the rushing year br And shades the bird, and is that happy tree br Then were it strength to serve and not appear, br And bliss, though blind, to be.