by
If thou should’st bid thy friend farewell,
But for one night though that farewell should be,
Press thou his hand in
thine; how canst thou tell
How far from thee
Fate, or caprice, may lead his feet
Ere that
to-morrow come? Men have been known
Lightly to turn the corner of a
street,
And days have grown
To months, and months to lagging years,
Before
they looked in loving eyes again.
Parting, at best, is underlaid with
tears—
With tears and pain.
Therefore, lest sudden death should come between,
Or time, or distance, clasp with pleasure true
The palms of him who goeth
forth. Unseen,
Fate goeth, too!
Yea, find thee always time to say
Some earnest
word betwixt the idle talk,
Lest with thee henceforth, night and day,
Regret should walk.