The Parting

Breathless was she and would not have us part:
"Adieu, my Saint," I said, "'tis come to this."
But she leaned to me, one hand at her heart,
And all her soul sighed trembling in a kiss.

Maurice Henry Hewlett

Maurice Henry Hewlett was an English historical novelist, poet, and essayist. His works often blended history and romance and he was known for his vivid characterizations and settings. Among his many works, 'The Forest Lovers' and 'Richard Yea-and-Nay' are some of the best known. Hewlett was a contemporary and sometimes critic of modernist trends in literature, favoring more traditional storytelling techniques.

Maurice Henry Hewlett

Dedication Of A Book

Maurice Henry Hewlett, Simple Poetry

To My Father This Little Book Not As Being Worthy But As All I Have Is Dedicated (From: Earthwork Out Of Tuscany)

Maurice Henry Hewlett, Simple Poetry

Clytié

Maurice Henry Hewlett, Simple Poetry

Quel Giorno Più ...

Maurice Henry Hewlett, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

A Parting.

    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 serpe...

W. M. MacKeracher

Upon Parting.

Go hence away, and in thy parting know
'Tis not my voice but Heaven's that bids thee go;
Spring hence thy faith, nor think it ill desert
I find in thee that makes me thus to part.
But voice of fame, and voice of Heaven have thundered
We both were lost, if both of us not sundered.
Fold now thine arms, and in thy last look rear
One sigh of love, and cool it with a tear.
Since part we must, let's kiss; that done, retire
With as cold frost as erst we met with fire;
With such white vows as fate can ne'er dissever,
But truth knit fast; and so, farewell for ever.

Robert Herrick

A Farewell.

Once more, enchanting girl, adieu!
I must be gone while yet I may,
Oft shall I weep to think of you;
But here I will not, cannot stay.

The sweet expression of that face.
For ever changing, yet the same,
Ah no, I dare not turn to trace.
It melts my soul, it fires my frame!

Yet give me, give me, ere I go,
One little lock of those so blest,
That lend your cheek a warmer glow,
And on your white neck love to rest.

--Say, when to kindle soft delight,
That hand has chanc'd with mine to meet,
How could its thrilling touch excite
A sigh so short, and yet so sweet?

O say--but no, it must not be.
Adieu! A long, a long adieu!
--Yet still, methinks, you frown on me;
Or never could I fly from you.

Samuel Rogers

After A Parting

Farewell has long been said; I have forgone thee;
    I never name thee even.
But how shall I learn virtues and yet shun thee?
    For thou art so near Heaven
That heavenward meditations pause upon thee.

Thou dost beset the path to every shrine;
    My trembling thoughts discern
Thy goodness in the good for which I pine;
    And if I turn from but one sin, I turn
Unto a smile of thine.

How shall I thrust thee apart
    Since all my growth tends to thee night and day--
To thee faith, hope, and art?
    Swift are the currents setting all one way;
They draw my life, my life, out of my heart.

Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

Good-Bye.

(To Miss E E.)


I cannot write, my tears are flowing fast,
    Yet weeping is unnatural to me;
Oh! that this hour of bitterness was past--
    The parting hour with all I love and thee

If I had never met or loved thee so,
    To part would not have caused me this sharp pain;
Parting so oft occurring here below,
    And they who part so seldom meet again.

Yet over land or sea, where'er I go,
    My home, my friends, shall flit before my eyes--
And oft I anxiously shall wish to know,
    If in thy bosom thoughts of me arise.

Oh, I will think of bygone days of glee,
    Though on each point of bitter sorrow driven;
I will not bid thee to remember me,
    But oh! see to it that we meet in Heaven.

1844.

Nora Pembroke

Parting

Lean down, and kiss me, O my love, my own;
    The day is near when thy fond heart will miss me;
And o'er my low green bed, with bitter moan,
    Thou wilt lean down, but cannot clasp or kiss me.

How strange it is, that I, so loving thee,
    And knowing we must part, perchance to-morrow,
Do comfort find, thinking how great will be
    Thy lonely desolation, and thy sorrow.

And stranger -sadder, O mine own other part,
    That I should grudge thee some surcease of weeping;
Why do I not rejoice, that in thy heart,
    Sweet love will bloom again when I am sleeping?

Nay, make no promise.    I would place no bar
    Upon thy future, even wouldst thou let me.
Thou hast, thou dost, well love me, like a man:
    And, like a man, in time thou wilt forget...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox