46

A sonnet to Griselda, a farewell

It seemed to be, yet also an appeal—

appeal—

Perhaps a declaration; who shall say

Whether the thought which lightened into day,

Between the sorrowing accents of each line,

Was more despair or hope which asked a sign?

"Farewell," it said, "although nor seas divide

Nor kingdoms separate, but a single street,

The sole sad gap between us, scarce too wide

For hands to cross, and though we needs must meet

Not in a year, a month, but just to-morrow,

When the first happy instinct of our feet

Bears us together,—yet we part in sorrow,

Bidding good-bye, as though we would repeat

Good-byes for ever. There are gulfs that yawn

Between us wide with time and circumstance,

Deep as the gulf which lies 'twixt dead and dead.

The day of promise finds no second dawn:

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