THOU art not, and thou never canst be mine; The die of fate for me is thrown, And thou art made No more to me than some resplendent shade Flung on the canvas by old art divine; Or vision of shap'd stone; Or the far glory of some starry sign Which hath a beauty unapproachable To aught but sight, -- a throne High in the heavens and out of reach, Therefore with this low speech I bid thee now a long and last farewell Ere I depart, in busy crowds to dwell, Yet be alone. All pleasures of this pleasant Earth be thine! Yea, let her servants fondly press Unto thy feet, Bearing all sights most fair, all scents most sweet: Spring, playing with her wreath of budded vine; Summer, with stately tress Prink'd with green wheat-ears and the white corn-bine; And Autumn, crown'd from the yellow forest-tree; -- And Winter, in his dress Begemm'd with icicles, from snow dead-white Shooting their wondrous light; These be thine ever. But I ask of thee One blessing only to beseech for me, -- Forgetfulness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG: WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A' by JOANNA BAILLIE THE SHRUBBERY, WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION by WILLIAM COWPER HAMPTON BEACH by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER KNOWLEDGE by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH PRAYER FOR AMERICA by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: THE LAST MESSAGE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE CARDINAL FLOWER by JOHN BURROUGHS AN EPISTLE: ADDRESSED TO SIR THOMAS HAMNER (1) by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) |