Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/Of a Parting

by Sarah Piatt

OF A PARTING.

Under a calm of stars, my own,
 Under a drooping crescent light,
You go, while fairy sounds are blown
Out of the dreams of winds, my own—
 You go across the night;
But on some far-off strand of sunrise
 Our hearts meet in a radiant bliss,
       Not damp, like this!

You go; the calm of stars must go,
 The crescent light, the fairy sounds;
Billows of cloud will overflow
The golden skies:—but you must go.
 And in its stormy rounds
The dark will hear low, fluttering voices
 Cry in my heart, like lonesome birds,
       For your sweet words.

You go, and twilights made for love
 Will gloom between us, dim with dew;
The spring-loosed music of the dove
Will search the emerald woods for love,
 And I will long for you,
Among the blue and pearly blossoms
 Far on the mossy hills, alone,
       My own, my own.

But you must loose my hands and go.
 Haste with those tremulous words of pain,
For I, most loved of all, I know
(The thought is full of tears) some go
 And never come again;—
So wait, and let me look forever
 Into the tenderness that lies
       In those deep eyes.

Ah! you are gone; and I—I hold
 My vacant arms to all who part,
And weep for them, and long to fold
Those strangers close, and say: "I hold
 Your sorrow in my heart;"
But look—the calm of stars is o'er us,
 And we go toward their lighted shore,
       And part no more.