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 | The poems of Trumbull Stickney |  |
V
LUCIAA parting, now!
To part! why, yes. But what 's in parting?
In such small separation as we plan
To fit our chances? what 's in leaving? Time.
308
And Pain is death. O let us wholly die
Who lived too wildly—
ANGELO
So said I, Lucia,
Were 't not that one may roundly crawl about
The moving camps of Destiny, and build
Behind her passage fortresses of peace
To harbour life in.
| The poems of Trumbull Stickney | |