 | Le Cahier Jaune |  |
21
GOOD-BYE
It was that wild and chill November morning,
When the sullen clouds were laden with the snow,
There was whispered in the dark a tender warning
Saying, faintly but so surely, you must go.
When the sullen clouds were laden with the snow,
There was whispered in the dark a tender warning
Saying, faintly but so surely, you must go.
You had journeyed times enough—we learned to miss you—
There was fond and eager talk of winds and ways;
You had waved your hand at parting, bade us kiss you,—
But this was for your journey of all days!
There was fond and eager talk of winds and ways;
You had waved your hand at parting, bade us kiss you,—
But this was for your journey of all days!
How we counted through the hours when you had vanished!
How we said, She is here, she is there.
Now the heart on which we leaned must be banished
From the Here to the Everywhere!
How we said, She is here, she is there.
Now the heart on which we leaned must be banished
From the Here to the Everywhere!
You had always wanted little:—and we gave you
Less than little, now we sadly think:
And our aching hearts were powerless to save you
From the shadow while you waited on the brink.
Less than little, now we sadly think:
And our aching hearts were powerless to save you
From the shadow while you waited on the brink.
The tender soul that only schemed to lighten
Every burden, and despised its own decay,
Faced the silence and the dark, and dared to brighten
The heaviness that brooded on the way.
Every burden, and despised its own decay,
Faced the silence and the dark, and dared to brighten
The heaviness that brooded on the way.
Thus you left us with your valour unabated,
No diminution of that eager love;
In a moment, in the dawn of hope, translated
To perfect your faithful energies above.
No diminution of that eager love;
In a moment, in the dawn of hope, translated
To perfect your faithful energies above.
22
Are you thinking with a gracious wonder,
Of our sightless sorrows, our half hearted mirth?
O'er your head the angels' song, yet under—
Ah forget not! turns the old uneasy earth.
Of our sightless sorrows, our half hearted mirth?
O'er your head the angels' song, yet under—
Ah forget not! turns the old uneasy earth.
Ah, forgive us,—it is love and not resistance,
In the golden mansions will you think of home?
Are the brave eyes looking, smiling through the distance,
Are you waiting, will you meet us, when we come?
In the golden mansions will you think of home?
Are the brave eyes looking, smiling through the distance,
Are you waiting, will you meet us, when we come?
Eton, 1890.
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