Here you will find the Poem Love-Wonder of poet Archibald Lampman
Or whether sad or joyous be her hours, Yet ever is she good and ever fair. If she be glad, 'tis like a child's wild air, Who claps her hands above a heap of flowers; And if she's sad, it is no cloud that lowers, Rather a saint's pale grace, whose golden hair Gleams like a crown, whose eyes are like a prayer From some quiet window under minister towers. But ah, Beloved, how shall I be taught To tell this truth in any rhymed line? For words and woven phrases fall to naught, Lost in the silence of one dream divine, Wrapped in the beating wonder of this thought: Even thou, who art so precious, thou art mine!
