Good-Bye To Work

GOOD-BYE to work, I say, and straight The pain of having such to say Puts coward touches on my face, And leaves me strangely old and gray. Why not? We deem it not amiss Beside the coffin and the pall To let our loss fill all our thought, To let our tears like raindrops fall. And when I stand and voice to-day The thought of my reluctant heart, Unclasp your bands and go your way O work, ’tis time for us to part! I say good-bye to more than friend, A comrade staunch, and tried and true, Who linked his fate with that of mine, And paced with me the dull year through. To work, the one enduring thing Born of my vast desire for good, And nourished by each grand resolve That swept my being like a flood. To work, the gracious thing, and strong, That found the welcome of a bride When life was in its green, glad spring, The coming years outstretching wide. When, not as laggard to his task, But as a lover warm and true, I held it close in my embrace, And felt its greatness thrill me through. O work! if time had passed us by And left us youth, and youth’s desires, What heights—nay never soul of man Mounts up so high as it aspires. The years—harsh things that steal the dew From all that’s fair—disdained to show Such mercy towards our purpose strong, To learn untouched its tender glow. Not always kind, not often fair, Since hearts so rarely constant prove What wonder that my fervor passed, That dulled grew the sharp edge of love? When eyes entreating met my own, Between would come your changeless face, Till, thwarted, I would feel to cry, O work, release me for a space! But what man putting the last kiss On lips once loved recalls to mind One slight defect, the haughty look The thoughtless word, the act unkind. But lets the mem’ry of each grace, Each sweetness, each light tender trick Throng to his heart, feel at its strings, Until the tears fall hot and thick. So work, I find since you and I May walk together nevermore, I hold you dear enough to wish That we might live the dead years o’er. Good-bye my work! and straight the pain Of having such a thing to say, Prints coward touches on my face, And leaves me strangely old and gray.