| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XIII. Farewell
Farewell | | By Coventry Patmore (1823–1896) |
| | | WITH all my will, but much against my heart, | |
| We two now part. | |
| My Very Dear, | |
| Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. | |
| It needs no art, | 5 |
| With faint, averted feet | |
| And many a tear, | |
| In our opposèd paths to persevere. | |
| Go thou to East, I West. | |
| We will not say | 10 |
| There ’s any hope, it is so far away. | |
| But, O, my Best, | |
| When the one darling of our widowhead, | |
| The nursling Grief, | |
| Is dead, | 15 |
| And no dews blur our eyes | |
| To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies, | |
| Perchance we may, | |
| Where now this night is day, | |
| And even through faith of still averted feet, | 20 |
| Making full circle of our banishment, | |
| Amazèd meet; | |
| The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet | |
| Seasoning the termless feast of our content | |
| With tears of recognition never dry. | 25 | | | |
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