A FAREWELL

WITH all my will, but much against my heart,

We two now part.

My Very Dear,

Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear.

It needs no art,

With faint, averted feet

And many a tear,

In our opposed paths to persevere.

Go thou to East, I West.

We will not say

There's any hope, it is so far away.

But, O, my Best,

When the one darling of our widowhead,

The nursling Grief

Is dead,

And no dews blur our eyes

To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies,

Perchance we may,

Where now this night is day,

And even through faith of still averted feet,

Making full circle of our banishment,

Amazèd meet;

The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet

Seasoning the termless feast of our content

With tears of recognition never dry.

Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]

DEPARTURE

It was not like your great and gracious ways!

Do you, that have naught other to lament,

Never, my Love, repent

Of how, that July afternoon,

You went,

With sudden, unintelligible phrase,

And frightened eye,

Upon your journey of so many days.

Absent, Yet Present

Without a single kiss, or a good-bye?

I knew, indeed, that you were parting soon;
And so we sate, within the low sun's rays,

You whispering to me, for your voice was weak,
Your harrowing praise.

Well, it was well

To hear you such things speak,

And I could tell

What made your eyes a glowing gloom of love,
As a warm South-wind sombers a March grove.

And it was like your great and gracious ways
To turn your talk on daily things, my Dear,
Lifting the luminous, pathetic lash

To let the laughter flash,

Whilst I drew near,

Because you spoke so low that I could scarcely hear.

But all at once to leave me at the last,

More at the wonder than the loss aghast,

With huddled, unintelligible phrase,

And frightened eye,

And go your journey of all days

With not one kiss, or a good-bye,

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And the only loveless look the look with which you passed:

"Twas all unlike your great and gracious ways.

Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]

ABSENT, YET PRESENT

As the flight of a river

That flows to the sea,

My soul rushes ever

In tumult to thee.

A twofold existence

I am where thou art;
My heart in the distance
Beats close to thy heart.

Look up, I am near thee,
I gaze on thy face;
I see thee, I hear thee,
I feel thine embrace.

As a magnet's control on
To steel it draws to it,
Is the charm of thy soul on

The thoughts that pursue it.

And absence but brightens
The eyes that I miss,
And custom but heightens
The spell of thy kiss.

It is not from duty,

Though that may be owed,

It is not from beauty,

Though that be bestowed;

But all that I care for,

And all that I know,
Is that, without wherefore,
I worship thee so.

Through granite it breaketh
A tree to the ray,
As a dreamer forsaketh
The grief of the day,

My soul in its fever
Escapes unto thee;
O dream to the griever.
O light to the tree!

A twofold existence

I am where thou art; Hark, hear in the distance

The beat of my heart!

Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton [1831-1891]

FAIR is the night, and fair the day,
Now April is forgot of May,

Now into June May falls away:

Fair day! fair night! O give me back
The tide that all fair things did lack
Except my Love, except my Sweet!

Blow back, O wind! thou art not kind,
Though thou art sweet: thou hast no mind
Her hair about my Sweet to bind.
O flowery sward! though thou art bright,
I praise thee not for thy delight,—
Thou hast not kissed her silver feet.

Thou know'st her not, O rustling tree!
What dost thou then to shadow me,
Whose shade her breast did never see?
O flowers! in vain ye bow adown:
Ye have not felt her odorous gown
Brush past your heads my lips to meet.

Flow on, great river! thou mayst deem
That far away, a summer stream,
Thou saw'st her limbs amidst the gleam,
And kissed her foot, and kissed her knee:
Yet get thee swift unto the sea!
With naught of true thou wilt me greet.

And Thou that men call by my name!
O helpless One! hast thou no shame
That thou must even look the same
As while agone, as while agone
When Thou and She were left alone,
And hands and lips and tears did meet?

Grow weak and pine, lie down to die,
O body! in thy misery,

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Because short time and sweet goes by.

O foolish heart! how weak thou art:

Break, break, because thou needs must part

From thine own Love, from thine own Sweet!

William Morris (1834-1896]

AT PARTING

FOR a day and a night Love sang to us, played with us,
Folded us round from the dark and the light;

And our hearts were fulfilled of the music he made with us,
Made with our hearts and our lips while he stayed with us,
Stayed in mid passage his pinions from flight

For a day and a night.

From his foes that kept watch with his wings had he hidden

us,

Covered us close from the eyes that would smite,

From the feet that had tracked and the tongues that had

chidden us

Sheltering in shade of the myrtles forbidden us

Spirit and flesh growing one with delight

For a day and a night.

But his wings will not rest and his feet will not stay for us: Morning is here in the joy of its might;

With his breath has he sweetened a night and a day for us: Now let him pass, and the myrtles make way for us;

Love can but last in us here at his height

For a day and a night.

Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909]

"IF SHE BUT KNEW"

IF she but knew that I am weeping

Still for her sake,

That love and sorrow grow with keeping

Till they must break,

My heart that breaking will adore her,

Be hers and die;

If she might hear me once implore her,

Would she not sigh?