Fare Thee Well, O Love Of Woman!

Fare thee well, O Love of Woman!
Lip of Beauty, fare thee well!
Thy soft heart, divinely human,
Holds me by a magic spell.
All that grieves me now to perish
Is the loss of one bright eye,
And I still the vision cherish
While I lay me down to die.

At my headstone, kindly kneeling,
May I beg a votive tear?
Woman, with her pure appealing,
Is my angel at the bier.
Let me have but one such linger,
Praying Christ to help and save,
Let me have but one dear finger
Place a chaplet on my grave.

Though the soldier dies in dying,
The true lover never dies;
Upward, from his embers flying,
He transfigures in the skies.
Heaven is rare, but Love is rarer,
Whether it be blest or crost;
Heaven blooms fair, but Love blooms fairer,
But, O God, at what a cost!

Fare thee well, O Love of Woman!
Lip of Beauty, fare thee well!
Thy soft heart, divinely human,
Holds me by a magic spell.
All that grieves me now to perish
Is the loss of one bright eye,
And I still the vision cherish
While I lay me down to die.

A. H. Laidlaw

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A. H. Laidlaw

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English

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Fare Well

When I lie where shades of darkness
Shall no more assail mine eyes,
Nor the rain make lamentation
When the wind sighs;
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Perishing be?

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Hand, foot, lip, to dust again,
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Look thy last on all things lovely,
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Thou have paid thy utmost blessing;
Since that all things thou wouldst praise
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On An Unfortunate And Beautiful Woman.

Oh, Mary, when distress and anguish came,
And slow disease preyed on thy wasted frame;
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And Want bowed low thy unsupported head;
Sure sad Humanity a tear might give,
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To whom the ruins of thy heart were dear,
Who fondly hoped, the ruthful season past,
Thy faded virtues might revive at last;
Should such be found, oh! when he saw thee lie,
Closing on every earthly hope thine eye;
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Mark the strange features of thy altered face;
When he beheld, as painful death drew nigh,
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A Ballad of Death

Kneel down, fair Love, and fill thyself with tears,
Girdle thyself with sighing for a girth
Upon the sides of mirth,
Cover thy lips and eyelids, let thine ears
Be filled with rumour of people sorrowing;
Make thee soft raiment out of woven sighs
Upon the flesh to cleave,
Set pains therein and many a grievous thing,
And many sorrows after each his wise
For armlet and for gorget and for sleeve.

O Loves lute heard about the lands of death,
Left hanged upon the trees that were therein;
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Fare Thee Well, Thou Lovely One! (Sicilian Air.)

Fare thee well, thou lovely one!
    Lovely still, but dear no more;
Once his soul of truth is gone,
    Love's sweet life is o'er.
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    Could scarce have thus deceived;
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    Were sure to be believed.
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    Lovely still, but dear no more;
Once his soul of truth is gone,
    Love's sweet life is o'er.

Yet those eyes look constant still,
    True as stars they keep their light;
Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil
    Of blushing always bright.
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Her Last Letter

Sitting alone by the window,
    Watching the moonlit street,
Bending my head to listen
    To the well-known sound of your feet,
I have been wondering, darling,
    How I can bear the pain,
When I watch, with sighs and tear-wet eyes,
    And wait for your coming in vain.

For I know that a day approaches
    When your heart will tire of me;
When by door and gate I may watch and wait
    For a form I shall not see;
When the love that is now my heaven,
    The kisses that make my life,
You will bestow on another,
    And that other will be - your wife.

You will grow weary of sinning
    (Though you do not call it so),
You will long for a love that is purer
    Than the love that we two know.
God knows I have loved you dearly,

Ella Wheeler Wilcox