Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/282



Thy hand is cold as mine, As lustreless thine eye; Thy bosom gives no sign That it could ever sigh Well, well! adieu's soon spoken, 'Tis but a parting phrase, Yet said, I fear, heart-broken We'll live our after days!

Thine eye no tear will shed; Mine is as proudly dry; But many an aching head Is ours before we die! From pride we both can borrow— To part we both may dare— But the heart-break of to-morrow, Nor you nor I can bear!