They are so sad to say: no poem tells
The agony of hearts that dwells
In lone and last farewells.
They are like deaths: they bring a wintry chill
To summer’s roses, and to summer’s rill;
And yet we breathe them still.
For pure as altar-lights hearts pass away;
Hearts! we said to them, “Stay with us! stay!”
And they said, sighing as they said it, “Nay.”
The sunniest days are shortest; darkness tells
The starless story of the night that dwells
In lone and last farewells.
Two faces meet here, there, or anywhere:
Each wears the thoughts the other face may wear;
Their hearts may break, breathing, “Farewell fore’er.”