PARTING.
'TIS you not I, have chosen. Love, go free! No cry of mine shall hold you on your way. I wept above the dead Past yesterday:— Let it lie now where all fair dead things be, Beneath the waves of Time's all-whelming sea. Forget it or remember—come what may— The time is past when one could bid it stay: What boots it any more to you or me?
It was my life—what matter?—I am dead, And if I seem to move, or speak, or smile, If some strange round of being still I tread And am not buried, for a little while, Yet, look you, Love, I am not what I seem: I died when died my faith in that dear dream.