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by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

How can I wait until you come to me?
    The once fleet mornings linger by the way,
Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee
    At my unrest; they seem to pause, and play
    Like truant children, while I sigh and say,
         How can I wait?

How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours
    Refused to pause or loiter with me long;
But now they idly fill their hands with flowers,
    And make no haste, but slowly stroll among
    The summer blooms, not heeding my one song,
         How can I wait?

How can I wait? The nights alone are kind;
    They reach forth to a future day, and bring
Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind;
    And time speeds by on light and airy wing.
    I feast upon your face, I no more sing,
         How can I wait?

How can I wait? The morning breaks the spell
    A pitying night has flung upon my soul.
You are not near me, and I know full well
    My heart has need of patience and control;
    Before we meet, hours, days, and weeks must roll.
         How can I wait?

How can I wait? Oh, love, how can I wait
    Until the sunlight of your eyes shall shine
Upon my world that seems so desolate?
    Until your hand-clasp warms my blood like wine;
    Until you come again, oh, love of mine,
         How can I wait?

from Poems of Passion by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1883)

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