di Philip Bourke Marston (1850-1887)

A little time for laughter,
A little time to sing,
A little time to kiss and cling,
And no more kissing after.
A littlw while for scheming
Love's unperfected schemes;
A little time for golden dreams,
Then no more any dreaming.
A little while 'twas given
To me to have thy love;
Now, like a ghost, alone I move
About a ruined heaven.
A little time for speaking
Things sweet to say and hear;
A time to seek, and find thee near,
Then no more any seeking.
A little time for saying
Words the heart breaks to say;
A short, sharp time wherein to pray,
Then no more need for praying;
But long, long years to weep in,
And comprehend the whole
Great grief that desolates the soul,
And eternity to sleep in.