Bret Harte: What the Bullet sang
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What the Bullet sang

1839-1902


O JOY of creation,
         To be!
O rapture, to fly
         And be free!
Be the battle lost or won,
Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
I shall find my love--the one
         Born for me!

I shall know him where he stands
         All alone,
With the power in his hands
         Not o'erthrown;
I shall know him by his face,
By his godlike front and grace;
I shall hold him for a space
         All my own!

It is he--O my love!
         So bold!
It is I--all thy love
         Foretold!
It is I--O love, what bliss!
Dost thou answer to my kiss?
O sweetheart! what is this
         Lieth there so cold?


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DayPoems Poem No. 761



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