Whilst thou nothing, nothing utter, but that fatal, ‘Fare thee well!’”
Still it answered, ‘Fare thee well!’”
“Speak! oh, speak to me bright being! I am blest thy form in seeing,
But shall no sweet whisper tell, me,—tell me that thou lovest still?
Shall I pass from earth to heaven, without sign or token given,
With no whispered token given—that thou still dost love me well?
Give it, give it now, I pray thee—here within this blessed dell,
Still that hated ‘Fare thee well.’”
Not another word expressing, but her lip in silence pressing,
With the vermeil-tinted finger seeming silence to compel,