Part 4 — BRET HARTE
Reading edition
1839-1902
813.
What the Bullet sang
O JOY of creation, To be! O rapture, to fly And be free! Be the battle lost or won, Though its smoke shall hide the sun, I shall find my love—the one Born for me! I shall know him where he stands All alone, With the power in his hands Not o’erthrown; I shall know him by his face, By his godlike front and grace; I shall hold him for a space All my own! It is he—O my love! So bold! It is I—all thy love Foretold! It is I—O love, what bliss! Dost thou answer to my kiss? O sweetheart! what is this Lieth there so cold?