Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
Made fair by one another for a while.
Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace;
The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
Ah! the long road! and you so far away!
Oh, Ill remember! but
each crawling day
Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.
Do you think theres a far border town, somewhere,
The deserts edge, last of the lands we know,
Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
In which Ill find you waiting; and well go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
Into the waste we know not, into the night?
