LIII THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED

Say what good-bye We owe to those who lived unstained by guile, Who seemed to die, But made their death a smile, As though to promise we should meet within A little while.

Is this good-bye, To sorrow o’er the blood-red pall of day, Till in the sky Faint tapers coldly pray; And think our joy died like the buried sun’s Last golden ray?

Is this good-bye, To tread on sallow leaves in autumn rain, And hear winds sigh An echo of our pain; And think that never can the bud-crowned spring Return again?

Is this good-bye, To watch the myriad falling flakes of snow Whirl down and lie Upon the fields below; And think the wonted path is now too dim For us to know?

Not so: good-bye Means faith in love kept warm by robes of white, Faith to deny The death of any light, Faith that to-morrow will be yesterday Without its night.