Martha Dickinson Bianchi (Марта Дикинсон Бьянки)

Separation

There be many kinds of parting—yes, I know
Some with fond, grieving eyes that overflow,
Some with brave hands that strengthen as they go;
Ah yes, I know—I know.

But there be partings harder still to tell,        
That fall in silence, like an evil spell,
Without one wistful message of farewell;
Ah yes, too hard to tell.

There is no claiming of one sacred kiss,—
One token for the days when life shall miss        
A spirit from the world of vanished bliss;
Ah no—not even this.

There is no rising ere the birds have sung
Their skyward songs, to journey with the sun,—
Nor folded hands to show that life is done;        
Ah no, for life is young.

There are no seas, no mountains rising wide,
No centuries of absence to divide,—
Just soul-space, standing daily side by side;
Ah, wiser to have died.        

Hands still clasp hands, eyes still reflect their own;—
Yet had one over universes flown,
So far each heart hath from the other grown,
Alone were less alone. 

1. The Worlds
2. Forgiveness Lane
3. Her Music
4. Reality
5. Unanswered

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