 |
|
 |
 | Poems by John B. Tabb |  |
4
WESTWARD.
And dost thou lead him hence with theeO setting sun,
And leave the shadows all to me
When he is gone?
Ah, if my grief his guerdon be,
My dark his light,
I count each loss felicity,
And bless the night.
| Poems by John B. Tabb | |