"The days go swiftly by With study and with work. I am too tired At night to think. I read anatomy, Materia medica and other things, And do the work an undergraduate Is called upon to do. And every week I spend three afternoons with the nuns and sew, And care for children of the poor whose mothers Are earning bread away. I go to church And talk with Mother Janet. And I pray At morning and at night for you, and ask For strength to live without you and for light To understand why love of you is mine, And why you are not mine, and whether God Will give you to me some day if I prove My womanhood is worthy of you, dear. And sometimes when our days of bliss come back And flood me with their warmth and blinding light I take my little crucifix and kiss it, And plunge in work to take me out of self, Some service to another. So it is, This sewing and this caring for the children Stills memory and gives me strength to live, And pass the days, go on. I shall not draw Upon your thought with letters, still I ask Your thought of me sometimes. Would it be much If once a year you sent me a bouquet To prove to me that you remember, sweet, Still cherish me a little, give me faith That in this riddle world there is a hand, Which spite of separation, thinks and touches Blossoms that I touch afterward? Dear heart, I have starved out and killed that reckless mood Which would have taken you and run away. Oh, if you knew that this means killing, too, The child I want--our child. You have a cross No less than I, beloved, even if love Of me has passed and eased the agony I thought you knew--your cross is heavy, dear, Bound, but not wedded to her, never to know The life of marriage with her. Yet be brave, Be noble, dear, be always what God made you, A great heart, patient, gentle, sacrificing, Bring comfort to her tedious days, forbear When she is petulant, for if you do, I know God will reward you, give you peace. I pray for strength for you, that never again May you distress her as you did, I did When she found there was someone. Lest she know Destroy this letter, all I ever write, So that her mind may never fix itself Upon a definite person, on myself. But still remaining vague may better pass To lighter shadows, nothingness at last. I try to think I sinned, have so confessed To get forgiveness at my first communion. And yet a vestige of a thought in me Will not submit, confess the sin. Well, dear, You can awake at midnight, at the pause Of duty in the day, merry or sad, Light hearted or discouraged, if you chance, To think of me, remember I send prayers To God for you each day--oh may His light Shine on your face!"