Poetry Archives

Pardon the faults in me,
  For the love of years ago:
    Good by.
I must drift across the sea,
  I must sink into the snow,
    I must die.

You can bask in this sun,
  You can drink wine, and eat:
    Good by.
I must gird myself and run,
  Though with unready feet:
    I must die.

Blank sea to sail upon,
  Cold bed to sleep in:
    Good by.
While you clasp, I must be gone
  For all your weeping:
    I must die.

A kiss for one friend,
  And a word for two,—
    Good by:—
A lock that you must send,
  A kindness you must do:
    I must die.

Not a word for you,
  Not a lock or kiss,
    Good by.
We, one, must part in two:
  Verily death is this:
    I must die.