Could It but Be!

Could the sheer weight of suffering be laid
Upon my heart, — if I for both might bear
The weariness, the horror, the despair,
The thoughts whereby the eyes become afraid
To close themselves in sleep; by grief dismayed
Watch the slow hours go by, while sobbing there
With broken wing comes back each outcast prayer
The soul in its wild agony has prayed:

If so I might take all the pain, and see
You walking happy with forgetful soul.
My image burned from out your memory,
Your dear feet hastening to some shining goal, —
Then, surely, I could find grief ecstasy;
I could defy despair, your heart made whole.