Poems (Blake)/Till To-morrow

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

For works with similar titles, see Till To-morrow.

TILL TO-MORROW.

Be kind, dear love, and never say "Good-by!"
 But always, when we 're parting,—"Till to morrow."
So shall my lips forget to frame a sigh,
 And Hope smile fondly in the face of Sorrow.

For if, indeed, it be but little space
 Before our parted steps again are meeting,
'T will cheat the hours to haste their lagging pace,
 If memory linger still on thought of greeting.

Or should our feet diverge through weary days
 And dreary nights, the changing seasons bringing,
The flinty sharpness of our lonely ways
 Will somewhat smooth, while thus the heart is singing.

And if,—O saddest chance!—God's pitying hands
 Should wide as life and death our paths dissever,
What dearer thought could mend the broken strands
 Than thus to wait, until we meet—forever!

So dearest love, be kind,—say not "Good-by,"
 But ever, when we're parting,"Till to-morrow."
So shall my lips forget to breathe a sigh,
 And Hope smile fondly in the face of Sorrow.