God! do not let my loved one die,
But rather wait until the time
That I am grown in purity
Enough to enter Thy pure clime,
Then take me, I will gladly go,
So that my love remain below!
Oh let her stay! She is my birth
What I thought death must learn to be;
We need her more on our poor earth than
Thou canst need in Heaven with Thee
She has her wings already, I
Must burst this earth-she'll ere I fly.
Then, God, take me! We shall be near,
More near than ever, each to each.
Her angel ears will find more clear
My heavenly than my earthly speech;
And still, as I draw nigh to Thee,
Her soul and mine shall closer be.
(Lowell, 1895, 15)
J. The Complete Poetical works. New York: Houghton, Mifflin and Co., 1895.