Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Paul HamiltonHayne

533 A Little While I Fain Would Linger Yet

A LITTLE while (my life is almost set!)

I fain would pause along the downward way,

Musing an hour in this sad sunset-ray,

While, Sweet! our eyes with tender tears are wet:

A little hour I fain would linger yet.

A little while I fain would linger yet,

All for love’s sake, for love that cannot tire;

Though fervid youth be dead, with youth’s desire,

And hope has faded to a vague regret,

A little while I fain would linger yet.

A little while I fain would linger here:

Behold! who knows what strange, mysterious bars

’Twixt souls that love may rise in other stars?

Nor can love deem the face of death is fair:

A little while I still would linger here.

A little while I yearn to hold thee fast,

Hand locked in hand, and loyal heart to heart;

(O pitying Christ! those woeful words, “We part!”)

So ere the darkness fall, the light be past,

A little while I fain would hold thee fast.

A little while, when light and twilight meet,—

Behind, our broken years; before, the deep

Weird wonder of the last unfathomed sleep,—

A little while I still would clasp thee, Sweet,

A little while, when night and twilight meet.

A little while I fain would linger here;

Behold! who knows what soul-dividing bars

Earth’s faithful loves may part in other stars?

Nor can love deem the face of death is fair:

A little while I still would linger here.