“Consolation   All are not taken; there are left behind Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices, to make soft the wind: But if it were not so—if I could find No love in all the world for comforting, Nor any path but hollowly did ring Where “dust to dust” the love from life disjoined, And if, before those sepulchers unmoving I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth) Crying “Where are ye, O my loved and loving?”— I know a Voice would sound, “Daughter, I am. Can I suffice for Heaven and not for earth?”