Good-by, my lover, good-by!
The touch of his hand was a thing divine,
As he sat with me in the soft moonshine,
And drank of love as men drink wine.
Good-by, my lover, good-by!
And never a night as I knelt in prayer,
In a gown as white as our own souls wear,
But in fancy he came and kissed me there:
Good-by, my lover, good-by!
But now, God! what an empty place