Love me no more, now let the god depart,
If love be grown so bitter to your tongue!
Here is my hand; I bid you from my heart
Fare well, fare very well, be always young.
As for myself, mine was a deeper drought,
I drank and thirsted still; but I surmise
My kisses are now sand against your mouth,
Teeth in your palm and pennies in your eyes.
Speak but one cruel word, to shame my tears;
So, but in going, stiffen up my back
To meet the yelping of the mustering year—
Dim, trotting shapes that seldom will attack
Two with a light who match their steps and sing:
To one alone and lost, another thing.
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