The Old Road to Paradise/Departure

by Margaret Widdemer

DEPARTURE

It was not when I plead with her,
 And on a tragic day
Clung sobbing to her skirts of rose,
 That Youth went away;

O not when from the cruel glass
 My face showed, lined and chill—
Her eyes burnt wild beneath the mask,
 Her pulse hurt me still.

But when I saw young lovers pass,
 And watched them, well-content,
Nor felt my eyes grow hot with tears
 To gaze where they went . . .

O then I knew my time was through,
 And pleasured in the day,
At peace to know of Love and Spring
 And Youth gone away.