Poems (Charlotte Allen)/The Farewell
For works with similar titles, see The Farewell.
THE FAREWELL.
Oh, do not breathe that little word,
It hath a withering sound;
For painful thoughts are with it stirred,
Though all be bright around.
It hath a withering sound;
For painful thoughts are with it stirred,
Though all be bright around.
For who hath fortitude to meet,
Unnerved, the magic spell,
That lingers in the dying notes,
Of the faint-spoke farewell.
Unnerved, the magic spell,
That lingers in the dying notes,
Of the faint-spoke farewell.
The trembling voice, the humid eye,
The firmly grasping hand,
All thrill the soul with agony,
That few can well withstand.
The firmly grasping hand,
All thrill the soul with agony,
That few can well withstand.
I have known, these, and vainly tried
To baffle feeling's sting;
But the choked stream would fain gush forth,
From its deep swelling spring.
To baffle feeling's sting;
But the choked stream would fain gush forth,
From its deep swelling spring.