This thought I welcome only, of the train
That drove joy from its hive within my breast,
Turned honey into gall, turned peace to pain
And sent hope forth upon a bootless quest.
This thought alone brings comfort to my mind,
And so is bidden often to return,
And ease the hurts that hour by hour I find
In sounds that torture and in sights that burn.
Old airs, old scenes, old anniversaries
(Oh, life for us was Love's long carnival)
And I repeat, "I save you this and this,"
As on each sword of memory I fall.
To save you sorrow was my prayer alway,
But oh, the price, the price I have to pay.
Sonnets of sorrow and triumph. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
New York: George H. Doran, 1918.
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