Complete Poetical Works

What the Bullet Sang

Bret Harte

O JOY of creation
            To be!
O rapture to fly
            And be free!
Be the battle lost or won,
Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
I shall find my love,—the one
            Born for me!

I shall know him where he stands,
            All alone,
With the power in his hands
            Not o’erthrown;
I shall know him by his face,
By his godlike front and grace;
I shall hold him for a space,
            All my own!

It is he—O my love!
            So bold!
It is I—all thy love
It is I.    O love! what bliss!
Dost thou answer to my kiss?
O sweetheart! what is this
            Lieth there so cold?

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