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THE FLIGHT.
And lights the clock! the hand points five—O me—it strikes the hour—
I bide no more, I meet my fate, whatever ills betide!
Arise, my own true sister, come forth! the world is wide.
I bide no more, I meet my fate, whatever ills betide!
Arise, my own true sister, come forth! the world is wide.
XXV.
And yet my heart is ill at ease, my eyes are thin with dew,
I seem to see a new-dug grave up yonder by the yew!
If we should never more return, but wander hand in hand
With breaking hearts, without a friend, and in a distant land.
And yet my heart is ill at ease, my eyes are thin with dew,
I seem to see a new-dug grave up yonder by the yew!
If we should never more return, but wander hand in hand
With breaking hearts, without a friend, and in a distant land.
XXVI.
O sweet, they tell me that the world is hard, and harsh of mind,
O sweet, they tell me that the world is hard, and harsh of mind,
