An Ode to Astronomy and other poems by Arthur E. Waite, (Written at the age of Nineteen) |
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THE PARTING. |
 | An Ode to Astronomy and other poems |  |
THE PARTING.
For the last time, the last, last time on earth,
My arms are clasped around thy innocent form,
Thy golden head is laid upon my heart,
My eyes seek thine, thy pale ethereal face
Is turned up meekly lovingly to mine,
For the last time, the last, last time on earth.
The setting sun a misty halo casts
About the couch whereon thy form is laid;
Slowly it sinks into the lurid west.
The casement glitters in the dying light,
The fragrant breeze is wafted through the room,
From the green meadows where the fountains play;
See how the woodbine floats upon its wings,
Its fragrance fades around us. Oh! how oft
Thus have we waited, while the twilight stole
(Pale-purple herald of returning night)
O'er the wide land. Slow died the hues of eve,
And silent up the hyacinthine sky
Walked the wan sceptre of the wandering moon.
Then came the dusky night, her raven skirts
Begemmed and glittering with a thousand stars.
My arms are clasped around thy innocent form,
Thy golden head is laid upon my heart,
My eyes seek thine, thy pale ethereal face
Is turned up meekly lovingly to mine,
For the last time, the last, last time on earth.
The setting sun a misty halo casts
About the couch whereon thy form is laid;
Slowly it sinks into the lurid west.
The casement glitters in the dying light,
The fragrant breeze is wafted through the room,
From the green meadows where the fountains play;
See how the woodbine floats upon its wings,
Its fragrance fades around us. Oh! how oft
Thus have we waited, while the twilight stole
(Pale-purple herald of returning night)
O'er the wide land. Slow died the hues of eve,
And silent up the hyacinthine sky
Walked the wan sceptre of the wandering moon.
Then came the dusky night, her raven skirts
Begemmed and glittering with a thousand stars.
But now I go for ever from thy side
Into the desolate desert of the world,
A lonely wanderer, like the houseless moon
Across the star sown meadows of the sky.
Over the distant hills, and far across
The lonely waters of the restless deep,
I go to wander in a stranger land.
No more these skies, no more this amber light,
Which tinges nature with enchantment's hues.
No more these undulating hills, these plains,
Where dew and sunshine intermingled both
Burst out in myriad flowers, and green trees
Cast lengthening shadows through the summer days,
In whose cool presence you may sit, and watch
The glad leaves tremble in the winds embrace,
While, like sweet voices heard in pleasant dreams,
The sun-bright founts and rills laugh softly nigh.
Into the desolate desert of the world,
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Across the star sown meadows of the sky.
Over the distant hills, and far across
The lonely waters of the restless deep,
I go to wander in a stranger land.
No more these skies, no more this amber light,
Which tinges nature with enchantment's hues.
No more these undulating hills, these plains,
Where dew and sunshine intermingled both
Burst out in myriad flowers, and green trees
Cast lengthening shadows through the summer days,
In whose cool presence you may sit, and watch
The glad leaves tremble in the winds embrace,
While, like sweet voices heard in pleasant dreams,
The sun-bright founts and rills laugh softly nigh.
I dare not linger o'er this last farewell,
Lest my weak heart should fail me at the end.
I lift thee from my breast, I must be gone;
Night has come round us, and the moonlight streams
Full through the open casement. Fare thee well.
The struggles and the pangs are at an end,
The foolish fight with fate is over now,
I turn but one more look upon thy face—
Would that my wretched soul might be poured forth,
Poured forth and spent, in this one look of love.
Lest my weak heart should fail me at the end.
I lift thee from my breast, I must be gone;
Night has come round us, and the moonlight streams
Full through the open casement. Fare thee well.
The struggles and the pangs are at an end,
The foolish fight with fate is over now,
I turn but one more look upon thy face—
Would that my wretched soul might be poured forth,
Poured forth and spent, in this one look of love.
Weep not, oh! gentle friend, thou need'st not weep,
Thine are the roses and the thorns are mine,
Thine are the joys that fade not out of life,
Mine are the empty and delusive toys
Which crumble into ashes at a touch.
Thy lot is with the sunshine, to be loved,
To love, and to be happy, it is mine,
Like those lost angels who are deepest lost,
To be supreme in misery. Farewell.
Thine are the roses and the thorns are mine,
Thine are the joys that fade not out of life,
Mine are the empty and delusive toys
Which crumble into ashes at a touch.
Thy lot is with the sunshine, to be loved,
To love, and to be happy, it is mine,
Like those lost angels who are deepest lost,
To be supreme in misery. Farewell.
| An Ode to Astronomy and other poems | |