O beautiful white Angels! who control
  The inner workings of each poet soul,
  Thou who hast touched my mind with tender graces
  Come near to me that I may see thy faces.

  Me, didst thou bless before I came to earth;
  Me, hast thou kissed, and dowered at my birth,
  With such a wealth of sweet imaginings,
  That, even in sleep, my dreaming fancy sings.

  Sometimes when seeing snow-white clouds at noon,
  Or watching silver shadows from the moon,
  Within my soul has stirred a joy like fear,
  As if some kindred spirit lingered near.

  Come closer, Angels! thou whose haloed wings
  Do gild for me the meanest ways and things,
  With beauty borrowed from the Infinite--
  Stand forth, let me behold thee in the light.

  O thought supreme! O death! O life! unknown
  I shall not solve thy mystery alone.
  The angels who have kissed me at my birth
  Shall take again my soul when done with earth,
  And as we soar through vast, star-lighted spaces,
  At last, at last I shall behold their faces.

Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.

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