Maria Jane Jewsbury

Adieu! Adieu!

   Oh! by that little word,
   How many thoughts are stirred!

                       Miss Bowles.

The rose to its summer splendour,
Leaves to their first bright hue,
Do not all beings render
Each unto each adieu?
Then call it not fault, or feigning,
Call it not pride undue,
Call it not kindness waning,
Only adieu! adieu!
There may be gentle feeling,
There may be friendship true,
When from the lip is stealing
Only adieu! adieu!
Thoughts may the soul be smiting,
Thoughts neither cold nor few,
Ev'n while the hand is writing
Only adieu! adieu!
The heart, like the violet's leaf,
Its flower may hide from view,
Call it not love or grief,
Yet still adieu! adieu!
Adieu! but in gloom or brightness,
Think there is one friend true,
The one that in seeming lightness
Once said adieu! adieu!