The Abiding Presence

By George Sterling

Sorely our souls to each are ever near,
    Twain harps that mix one music; for to-day,
    As far in love's high reverie I lay,
One memory of thee, I seemed to hear
Thy voice within my breast—a chord so clear
    That as advancing seas the moon obey
    So the soul's waters trembled to thy sway,
Thy presence, Sweet, attested by a tear.

O great companionship! seraphic grief !
    O consecration and undying flame !
        Shall Sorrow breathe what mystery thou art?
Shall Love find here thy kiss, forlornly brief,
    Or speak the sense of worship in thy name
        Told now in music to my haunted heart'

San Francisco.

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