THE setting sun, with dying beams, Had waked the purple hill to fire, And citadel and dome and spire Were gilded by the far-off gleams; And in and out dark pine-trees crept Full many a slender thread of gold; Gold shafts athwart the river swept, And kissed it as it onward rolled: And sunlight lingered, loath to go; Ah, well! it causeth sorrow To part from those we love below; And yet the sun as bright shall glow To-morrow. Two hearts have met to say farewell At even when the sun went down; Each life-sound from the busy town Smote sadly as a passing bell. One whispered, "Parting is sweet pain -- At morn and eve returns the tide;" "Nay, parting rends the heart in twain." And still they linger side by side; And still they linger, loath to go; Ah, well! it causeth sorrow To part from those we love below -- For shall we ever meet or no, To-morrow? |