The Last Good-by
HOW shall we know it is the last good-by? The skies will not be darkened in that hour, No sudden blight will fall on leaf or flower, No single bird will hush its ceaseless cry, And you will hold my hands, and smile or sigh Just as before. Perchance the sudden tears In your dear eyes will answer to my fears; But there will come no voice of prophecy,-- No voice to whisper, "Now, and not again, Space for last words, last kisses, and last prayer, For all the wild unmitigated pain Of those who, parting, clasp hands with despair:"-- "Who knows?" we say, but doubt and fear remain, Would any choose to part thus unaware?
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