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?

Bret Harte

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-the-bullet-sang/