Good-Bye (Cambridge poem)
Good-bye! - 't'is like a churchyard bell - Good-bye!
Poor weeping eyes! Poor head, bowed down with woe!
Kiss me again, dear love, before you go.
Ah me, how fast the precious moments fly!
We are like mourners when they stand and cry
At open grave in wintry wind and rain.
Yes, it is death. But you shall rise again,
Your sun return to this benighted sky.
The great physician, Time, shall pacify
This parting anguish with another friend,
Your heart is broken now, but it will mend.
Though it is death, yet still you will not die.
Dear heart! Dear eyes! Dear tongue, that cannot lie!
Your love is true, your grief is deep and sore.
But love will pass - then you will grieve no more.
New love will come. Your tears will soon be dry.