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DEPARTURE
It was not when I plead with her,
And on a tragic day
Clung sobbing to her skirts of rose,
That Youth went away;
And on a tragic day
Clung sobbing to her skirts of rose,
That Youth went away;
O not when from the cruel glass
My face showed, lined and chill—
Her eyes burnt wild beneath the mask,
Her pulse hurt me still.
My face showed, lined and chill—
Her eyes burnt wild beneath the mask,
Her pulse hurt me still.
But when I saw young lovers pass,
And watched them, well-content,
Nor felt my eyes grow hot with tears
To gaze where they went . . .
And watched them, well-content,
Nor felt my eyes grow hot with tears
To gaze where they went . . .
O then I knew my time was through,
And pleasured in the day,
At peace to know of Love and Spring
And Youth gone away.
And pleasured in the day,
At peace to know of Love and Spring
And Youth gone away.
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