C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Separation

Translation of E. and R. E. Prothero

WE wandered down, at dawn of day,

A narrow path—heart close to heart;

At noon, upon the world’s highway,

I walk to right, you left—apart.

No more we have our heaven together.

How bright is yours! How black is mine!

Your choice is still the sunniest weather,

I keep the side where naught will shine.

Where’er you walk, gleams round you play—

The very sand has diamond beads;

No beams e’er light with gladdening ray

The cold gray soil my footstep treads.

Bird-songs and whispers full of sweets,

Caressing, woo your eye and ear;

Your hair the breeze, adoring, greets;

Your lip the bee, entranced, draws near.

And I—I can but sing and sigh;

My heart’s deep wound is ill at ease;

From leaf-hid nests the fondling cry

Disturbs me more than it can please.

But Love! a sky forever bright

May make too keen our mortal joy;

The air’s embrace has too much might;

The incense e’en of flowers may cloy.

Then yearns the soul for that calm rest

That closes round at closing day,

With half-shut eye, on some true breast

To watch Life’s fever ebb away.

Will you not come and take your seat

By that highway at evening-fall?

I’ll wait you there. We two shall meet

Where one deep shadow wraps it all.