The Village Churchyard And Other Poems. By Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley |
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FAREWELL! AND NOT THE FIRST FAREWELL. |
 | The Village Churchyard |  |
177
FAREWELL! AND NOT THE FIRST FAREWELL.
Farewell! and not the first Farewell,
These agonizing lips have sighed;
My heart,—beneath that deadly spell,
Better that thou hadst died!
These agonizing lips have sighed;
My heart,—beneath that deadly spell,
Better that thou hadst died!
We part, alas! how differently—
More differently, perchance, to meet.
Absence will steal thy heart from me;
To me, 't will make thy faults e'en sweet.
More differently, perchance, to meet.
Absence will steal thy heart from me;
To me, 't will make thy faults e'en sweet.
Farewell! and not the first Farewell
I've sighed to those most cherished:
My heart,—beneath the withering spell,
Better that thou hadst perished!
I've sighed to those most cherished:
My heart,—beneath the withering spell,
Better that thou hadst perished!
178
Farewell! I dare not look beyond
This parting-moment's dreary bound;
Nor raise illusions fair and fond,
On Hope's forbidden ground!
This parting-moment's dreary bound;
Nor raise illusions fair and fond,
On Hope's forbidden ground!
Yet be this grief, mine all—mine only;
I'm covetous of the unshared pain:
And whilst I mourn, apart and lonely,
Each added grief shall seem a gain!
I'm covetous of the unshared pain:
And whilst I mourn, apart and lonely,
Each added grief shall seem a gain!
And, miser-like, let me count o'er
Each ill that thwarts, each pang that tries:
The heavy sum, the gloomy store,
Shall have its value in mine eyes.
Each ill that thwarts, each pang that tries:
The heavy sum, the gloomy store,
Shall have its value in mine eyes.
Suffering for thee, though keen the smart,
Shall still be dear, shall still be sweet;
Though very differently we part,
And very differently may meet!
Shall still be dear, shall still be sweet;
Though very differently we part,
And very differently may meet!
179
And suffering, without thee—whate'er
May be the infliction and the woe—
Must still the last, worst torture spare,—
The thought that thou art suffering too!
May be the infliction and the woe—
Must still the last, worst torture spare,—
The thought that thou art suffering too!
Farewell! and not the first Farewell
These altered lips have spoken:
My heart,—beneath that deadening spell,
Better hadst thou been broken!
These altered lips have spoken:
My heart,—beneath that deadening spell,
Better hadst thou been broken!
Alas! how differently we part—
To meet more differently, I fear:
Absence will harden more thy heart—
Make faithlessness to me e'en dear!
To meet more differently, I fear:
Absence will harden more thy heart—
Make faithlessness to me e'en dear!
| The Village Churchyard | |