William Morris (1834–1896)

WHAT part of the dread eternity

Are those strange minutes that I gain,

Mazed with the doubt of love and pain,

When I thy delicate face may see,

A little while before farewell?

What share of the world’s yearning-tide

That flash, when new day bare and white

Blots out my half-dream’s faint delight,

And there is nothing by my side,

And well remembered is farewell?

What drop in the grey flood of tears

That time, when the long day toiled through,

Worn out, shows nought for me to do,

And nothing worth my labour bears

The longing of that last farewell?

What pity from the heavens above,

What heed from out eternity,

What word from the swift world for me?

Speak, heed, and pity, O tender love,

Who knew’st the days before farewell!