Consolation
All
are
not
taken;
there
are
left
behind
Living
Belovèds,
tender
looks
to
bring
And
make
the
daylight
still
a
happy
thing,
And
tender
voices,
to
make
soft
the
wind:
But
if
it
were
not
so—if
I
could
find
No
love
in
all
this
world
for
comforting,
Nor
any
path
but
hollowly
did
ring
Where
'dust
to
dust'
the
love
from
life
disjoin'd;
And
if,
before
those
sepulchres
unmoving
I
stood
alone
(as
some
forsaken
lamb
Goes
bleating
up
the
moors
in
weary
dearth)
Crying
'Where
are
ye,
O
my
loved
and
loving?'—
I
know
a
voice
would
sound,
'Daughter,
I
AM.
Can
I
suffice
for
Heaven
and
not
for
earth?'
