<h2>XX</h2>
<p>Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think<br/>
That thou wast in the world a year ago,<br/>
What time I sat alone here in the snow<br/>
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink<br/>
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,<br/>
Went counting all my chains as if that so<br/>
They never could fall off at any blow<br/>
Struck by thy possible hand,—why, thus I drink<br/>
Of life’s great cup of wonder! Wonderful,<br/>
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night<br/>
With personal act or speech,—nor ever cull<br/>
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white<br/>
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,<br/>
Who cannot guess God’s presence out of sight.</p>
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