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.
For who hath fortitude to meet, 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.
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.