A Parting.
By W. M. MacKeracher
Has the last farewell been spoken?
Have I ta'en the parting token
From thy lips so sweet?
Has their last soft word been spoken
Till again we meet?
Why is not thy hand extended?
Is my maiden queen offended?
Or does she forget?
No! my queen is not offended,
She is kindly yet.
For her eye is softly beaming,
And with tenderness is teeming,
Gentle as the dove's:
With a holy light is beaming -
Dare I call it love's?
But the time is fast advancing;
From the heaven of its glancing
I must rend my heart:
Treacherous Time is fast advancing,
And I must depart.
Ah! the pain the parting brings me!
As a serpent's fang it stings me,
Leaves me almost dead:
Ah! the faintness that it brings me
With the future fled!
'Tis a darkened night of sorrow,
Waiting for the light of morrow;
Thus it seems to me:
'Tis a night of pain and sorrow
While I want for thee.
Two long weeks of weary waiting,
All my happiness belating;
When will they be o'er?
Two long weeks of woful waiting
E'er I see thee more.