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A MONTH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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182

A MONTH

A month,—and then no more?
What would the horror of the parting be
When the sweet light that lightened hill and sea
And shore
Fled,—and returned no more!
The night would come again!
But thou wouldst not be waiting in the night,
Tender and gentle, blossom-sweet and white,
And pain
Would fill the night's old fane.
Again the day would break
But thou wouldst not be waiting by my side,
The spirit of the dawn, the morning's bride:
To wake
Would double all heart-ache!

183

One month?—we should be wed
For ever, married into perfect bliss:
And then would come the parting, the last kiss,
The red
Slow blood-stream where the rent dazed soul-halves bled,—
Can we face this?
July 18, 1881.