A poem

Patience and I have traveled hand in hand
    So many days that I have grown to trace
    The lines of sad, sweet beauty in her face,
And all its veilèd depths to understand.

Not beautiful is she to eyes profane;
    Silent and unrevealed her holy charms;
    But, like a mother's, her serene, strong arms
Uphold my footsteps on the path of pain.

I long to cry,— her soft voice whispers, "Nay!"
    I seek to fly, but she restrains my feet;
    In wisdom stern, yet in compassion sweet,
She guides my helpless wanderings, day by day.

O my Beloved, life's golden visions fade,
    And one by one life's phantom joys depart;
    They leave a sudden darkness in the heart,
And patience fills their empty place instead.

This poem originally ran under the byline Edith Jones, Wharton's name until 1885, when she married and took her husband's surname.