Henry Theodore Tuckerman (1813–1871)

WHAT though our dream is broken? Yet again

Like a familiar angel it shall bear

Consoling treasures for these days of pain,

Such as they only who have grieved can share:

As unhived nectar for the bee to sip,

Lurks in each flower-cell which the spring-time brings,

As music rests upon the quiet lip,

And power to soar yet lives in folded wings;

So let the love on which our spirits glide

Flow deep and strong beneath its bridge of sighs,

No shadow resting on the latent tide

Whose heavenward current baffles human eyes,

Until we stand upon the holy shore,

And realms it prophesied at length explore.