Classic Poem

Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
— Made fair by one another for a while.
Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace;
— The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
Ah! the long road! and you so far away!
Oh, I'll remember! but . . . each crawling day
— Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.

. . . Do you think there's a far border town, somewhere,
— The desert's edge, last of the lands we know,
— — Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
— In which I'll find you waiting; and we'll go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
— — Into the waste we know not, into the night?

Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
— Made fair by one another for a while.
Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace;
— The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
Ah! the long road! and you so far away!
Oh, I'll remember! but . . . each crawling day
— Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.

. . . Do you think there's a far border town, somewhere,
— The desert's edge, last of the lands we know,
— — Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
— In which I'll find you waiting; and we'll go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
— — Into the waste we know not, into the night?

Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
— Made fair by one another for a while.
Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace;
— The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
Ah! the long road! and you so far away!
Oh, I'll remember! but . . . each crawling day
— Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.

. . . Do you think there's a far border town, somewhere,
— The desert's edge, last of the lands we know,
— — Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
— In which I'll find you waiting; and we'll go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
— — Into the waste we know not, into the night?