You are to me, my love, more than stars
Can ever be to dark and empty sky;
Much more than songs of birds can ever be
Who sing because they must, or they will die.
You are to me, my love, much more than rain
Upon a field barren, dry with dust,
For I have waited all my life to gain
Your love sincere, and your true loving trust.
I waited, wrote, not knowing where you were,
Or if you were—I to remain alone.
And then, suddenly—yes, you are there,
No pic, no sound, and only a mental tone—
A thing so slight, yet soon I came to know
That you were my life’s sky of starry flame!