Читать книгу Poems - Fanny Kemble - Страница 9

Yet once again, but once, before we sever,

   Fill we one brimming cup,—it is the last!

And let those lips, now parting, and for ever,

   Breathe o’er this pledge, “the memory of the past!”

Joy’s fleeting sun is set; and no to-morrow

   Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast,

Yet, in the bitter cup, o’erfilled with sorrow,

   Lives one sweet drop,—the memory of the past.

But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining

   Through their warm tears, their loveliest and their last;

But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining,

   Now farewell all, save memory of the past.