565. Autumn
Mild is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed it all.
566. Remain!
Remain, ah not in youth alone!
—Tho' youth, where you are, long will stay—
But when my summer days are gone,
And my autumnal haste away.
Can I be always by your side? No; but the hours you can, you must, Nor rise at Death's approaching stride, Nor go when dust is gone to dust.
567. Absence
Here, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change, no change I see:
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walk'd by me.
Yes; I forgot; a change there is—
Was it of that you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
The sight, the tone, I know so well.
