Three Days More

Not love's commandCould dry one league of sea;Or even God's handFold up one mile of land,To bring you sooner unto me!

There are but three more days to climb—To-day, to-morrow, and its mate,Till that day! . . . Did love know to waitWould it be love? Not in my timeOr in my blood!My thought, elate,Swells like a rising sea to floodCovering barren days betweenAnd brings you (as love should)Till you stand there—my lord, my light, my good! . . .Ere the frail screenOf fancy falls to my embraceSudden, the spell snaps short to Fate!Till that day—when I see your face—There are still three dark days to climb,To-day, to-morrow, and its mate.