by G.K. Chesterton
I need not say I love you yet:
You know how doth my heart oppress
The intolerable tenderness
That broke my body when we met.
I need not say I love you yet.
But let my say I fear you yet:
You the long years not vulgarise,
You open your immortal eyes
And we for the first time have met.
Cover your face, I fear you yet.
* * *
This poem was going through my head the other day. It shows how Chesterton loved Frances so much that he still honored her mystery. He never was so proud as to say he knew her completely, even after twenty-five years. He maintained that healthy fear, that reverence, for the depths she had that he was still only beginning to understand.
1 comment:
I was just speaking with a friend the other day, who told me, "My wife is still a mystery to me..." In a positive sense, of course. Heh.
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