So not good-bye, good-night—that’s all,
The loneliness, the loss is mine,
To-morrow when the glad winds call,
The folds of mist will backward fall,
And leave me with my hand in thine.
Her Gold
“I covet her gold, sir,” no farther I got,
His wrath down upon me so swiftly descended,
A gay fortune-hunter, a spendthrift, a sot,
Were names I was called before he had ended.
“You covet her gold! Ah! no man with a heart
Would do such a thing—not even a pauper—
With you on life’s journey my child shall not start
If counsel of mine, and warning, can stop her.”
“I covet her gold, and, believe me,” I said,
“The honest fact will in no way surprise her,
I covet her gold, sir, the gold on her head,
Once it is mine you may call me a miser.”
Good-Bye To Work
GOOD-BYE to work, I say, and straight
The pain of having such to say
Puts coward touches on my face,
And leaves me strangely old and gray.
Why not? We deem it not amiss
Beside the coffin and the pall
To let our loss fill all our thought,
To let our tears like raindrops fall.
And when I stand and voice to-day
The thought of my reluctant heart,
Unclasp your bands and go your way
O work, ’tis time for us to part!