Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By AliceBrown1299 Cloistered
S
And bar my door to all the airs of spring.
Yet in my cell, concealed from curious sight,
Here will I sit and sing.
Telling in silence these sad beads of days?
So let it be: though no sweet numbers flow,
My breath shall be Thy praise.
The upward-mounting flame, the failing spark,
My heart of love, that heart Thou gavest me,
Shall beat on in the dark.