When at Last – Louise Bogan

When at last we can love what we will not touch
Know what we need not be;
Hum over to ourselves the tune made by the massed instruments
As the shell hums the sea;

Then come the long days without the terrible hour,
And the long nights of rest,
Then the true fruit, from the exhausted flower
Sets, in the breast.

Photo by Adrien Olichon on Pexels.com

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