WE do not know how much we love, Until we come to leave; An aged tree, a common flower, Are things o'er which we grieve. There is a pleasure in the pain That brings us back the past again. We linger while we turn away, We cling while we depart; And memories, unmarked till then, Come crowding on the heart. Let what will lure our onward way, Farewell's a bitter word to say. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO THE POOR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE SORROWS OF WERTHER by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY THE SONG OF THE ILL-BELOVED; TO PAUL LEAUTARD by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE AFTER THE PLAY by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG |