The poem
WHO is this unseen messenger For ever between me and her, Who brings love’s precious merchandise, The golden breath, the dew of sighs, And the wild, gentle thoughts that dwell Too fragile for the lips to tell, Each at their birth, to us before A heaving of the heart is o’er? Who art thou, unseen messenger?
I think, O Angel of the Lord, You make our hearts to so accord That those who hear in after hours May sigh for love as deep as ours; And seek the magic that can give An Eden where the soul may live, Nor need to walk a road of clay With stumbling feet, nor fall away From thee, O Angel of the Lord.