Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/Of a Parting
OF A PARTING.
Under a calm of stars, my own, Under a drooping crescent light,You go, while fairy sounds are blownOut 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 overflowThe golden skies:—but you must go. And in its stormy roundsThe 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 doveWill 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 foldThose 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.