The Old Road to Paradise/Departure
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.