James Russell Lowell

Farewell

  Farewell! as the bee round the blossom
  Doth murmur drowsily,
  So murmureth round my bosom
  The memory of thee;
  Lingering, it seems to go,
  When the wind more full doth flow,
  Waving the flower to and fro,
  But still returneth, Marian!

  My hope no longer burneth,
  Which did so fiercely burn,
  My joy to sorrow turneth,
  Although loath, loath to turn--
  I would forget--
  And yet--and yet
  My heart to thee still yearneth, Marian!

  Fair as a single star thou shinest,
  And white as lilies are
  The slender hands wherewith thou twinest
  Thy heavy auburn hair;
  Thou art to me
  A memory
  Of all that is divinest:
  Thou art so fair and tall,
  Thy looks so queenly are,
  Thy very shadow on the wall,
  Thy step upon the stair,
  The thought that thou art nigh,
  The chance look of thine eye
  Are more to me than all, Marian,
  And will be till I die!

  As the last quiver of a bell
  Doth fade into the air,
  With a subsiding swell
  That dies we know not where,
  So my hope melted and was gone:
  I raised mine eyes to bless the star
  That shared its light with me so far
  Below its silver throne,
  And gloom and chilling vacancy
  Were all was left to me,
  In the dark, bleak night I was alone!
  Alone in the blessed Earth, Marian,
  For what were all to me--
  Its love, and light, and mirth, Marian,
  If I were not with thee?

  My heart will not forget thee
  More than the moaning brine
  Forgets the moon when she is set;
  The gush when first I met thee
  That thrilled my brain like wine,
  Doth thrill as madly yet;
  My heart cannot forget thee,
  Though it may droop and pine,
  Too deeply it had set thee
  In every love of mine;
  No new moon ever cometh,
  No flower ever bloometh,
  No twilight ever gloometh
  But I'm more only thine.
  Oh look not on me, Marian,
  Thine eyes are wild and deep,
  And they have won me, Marian,
  From peacefulness and sleep;
  The sunlight doth not sun me,
  The meek moonshine doth shun me,
  All sweetest voices stun me--
  There is no rest
  Within my breast
  And I can only weep, Marian!

  As a landbird far at sea
  Doth wander through the sleet
  And drooping downward wearily
  Finds no rest for her feet,
  So wandereth my memory
  O'er the years when we did meet:
  I used to say that everything
  Partook a share of thee,
  That not a little bird could sing,
  Or green leaf flutter on a tree,
  That nothing could be beautiful
  Save part of thee were there,
  That from thy soul so clear and full
  All bright and blessèd things did cull
  The charm to make them fair;
  And now I know
  That it was so,
  Thy spirit through the earth doth flow
  And face me wheresoe'er I go--
  What right hath perfectness to give
  Such weary weight of woe
  Unto the soul which cannot live
  On anything more low?
  Oh leave me, leave me, Marian,
  There's no fair thing I see
  But doth deceive me, Marian,
  Into sad dreams of thee!

  A cold snake gnaws my heart
  And crushes round my brain,
  And I should glory but to part
  So bitterly again,
  Feeling the slow tears start
  And fall in fiery rain:
  There's a wide ring round the moon,
  The ghost-like clouds glide by,
  And I hear the sad winds croon
  A dirge to the lowering sky;
  There's nothing soft or mild
  In the pale moon's sickly light,
  But all looks strange and wild
  Through the dim, foreboding night:
  I think thou must be dead
  In some dark and lonely place,
  With candles at thy head,
  And a pall above thee spread
  To hide thy dead, cold face;
  But I can see thee underneath
  So pale, and still, and fair,
  Thine eyes closed smoothly and a wreath
  Of flowers in thy hair;
  I never saw thy face so clear
  When thou wast with the living,
  As now beneath the pall, so drear,
  And stiff, and unforgiving;
  I cannot flee thee, Marian,
  I cannot turn away,
  Mine eyes must see thee, Marian,
  Through salt tears night and day.