Unless

 Who has not wanted, does not guess 
What plenty is.
--Who has not groped 
In depths of doubt and hopelessness, 
Has never truly hoped.
-- 
Unless, sometimes, a shaow falls 
Upon his mirth, and veils his sight, 
And from the darkness drifts the light 
Of love at intervals.


And that most dear of everything, 
I hold, is love; and who can sit 
With lightest heart and laugh and sing, 
Knows not the worth of it.
-- 
Unless, in some strange throng, perchance, 
He feels how thrilling sweet it is, 
One yearning look that answers his -- 
The troth of glance and glance.


Who knows not pain, knows not, alas! 
What pleasure is.
--Who knows not of 
The bitter cup that will not pass, 
Knows not the taste of love.
 
O souls that thirst, and hearts that fast, 
And natures faint with famishing, 
God lift and lead and safely bring 
You to your own at last!

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