Day That I Have Loved

Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes,

And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands.

The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies.

I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands,

Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea's making

Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned.

There you'll be laid, past fear of sleep or hope of waking;

And over the unmoving sea, without a sound,

Faint hands will row you outward, out beyond our sight,

Us with stretched arms and empty eyes on the far-gleaming

And marble sand. . . .

Beyond the shifting cold twilight,

Further than laughter goes, or tears, further than dreaming,

There'll be no port, no dawn-lit islands! But the drear

Waste darkening, and, at length, flame ultimate on the deep.

Oh, the last fire — and you, unkissed, unfriended there!

Oh, the lone way's red ending, and we not there to weep!