Come close; come closer yet―for the last time;
And reach thy soft arms round my
shoulders―so;
shoulders―so;
And if thou speak’st at all, speak very low.
And give me now thy lips―for the last time―
The last, and so the very tenderest!
Lift, lift from those dear eyes the petaled snow,
And let thy passion kindle therein, slow
And tender-deep. Lean closer on my breast,
Belovéd, this sweet-bitter parting hour!
God! if I might in this white dove-cote dwell―
Forever feel this innocent bosom’s swell! . . .
Lo! as a bee goes from a clover flow’r
Drunken thro’ greed, and heavily swooning―so,
Heavy with sweets as chaste, I staggering go.
“He Speaks at Parting” as it appears in Higginson’s When the Birds Go North Again (1898).