( IN THE BOOK OF A FRIEND WHO WAS TO START IN A MONTH ON A LONG JOURNEY) WHEN our short life has neared the end, How full of grief and bitterness Is the departure of a friend, And the last time his hand to press! Ah, welladay! At Autumn's close 'Tis all in vain that heaven bestows A few fine days, a little sun; Too soon we know their course will run. Joy, its chief power to please, from hope must borrow, To have you now, but lose to-morrow; Can only whisper to my loving heart That happiness must soon depart; Can only tell of coming sorrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 45 by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY A WRECKED LOCOMOTIVE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE INDIAN by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT NEVADA by HELENA GRACE BRADLEY NAPOLEON'S TOMB by DANA BURNET THE ASCENSION, SELECTION by CYNEWULF THE FIERCE AND BLOODY BATTLE OF THE WEDDIN MOUNTAINS by DAMPHOOL JR. |