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Dinah Maria Mulock - Angel Faces
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I.

I SHALL not paint them. God them sees, and I: 
No other can, nor need. They have no form, 
I may not close with human kisses warm 
Their eyes which shine afar or from on high, 
But never will shine nearer till I die. 
How long, how long! See, I am growing old; 
I have quite ceased to note in my hair`s fold 
The silver threads that there in ambush lie; 
Some angel faces bent from heaven would pine 
To trace the sharp lines graven upon mine; 
What matter? in the wrinkles ploughed by care 
Let age tread after, sowing immortal seeds; 
All this life`s harvest yielded, wheat or weeds, 
Is reaped, methinks: at my little field lies bare. 

II.

BUT in the night time, `twixt it and the stars, 
The angel faces still come glimmering by; 
No death-pale shadow, no averted eye 
Marking the inevitable doom that bars 
Me from them. Not a cloud their aspect mars; 
And my sick spirit walks with them hand in hand 
By the cool waters of a pleasant land: 
Sings with them o`er again, without its jars, 
The psalm of life, that ceased, as one by one 
Their voices, dropping off, left mine alone 
With dull monotonous wail to grieve the air. 
O solitary love, that art so strong, 
I think God will have pity on thee erelong, 
And take thee where thou`lt find those angel faces fair.
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