except a gleam

Love, leave me like the light, 

    The gently passing day; 

    We would not know, but for the night, 

    When it has slipped away. 

 

So many hopes have fled, 

    Have left me but the name 

    Of what they were. When love is dead, 

    Go thou, beloved, the same. 

     

Go quietly; a dream 

    When done, should leave no trace 

    That it has lived, except a gleam 

    Across the dreamer's face. 

 

[Countee Cullen {1903-1946} 'If You Should Go', from 100 Poems That Matter {Academy of American Poets}]