Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | October 25, 2009


by Abraham Hayward  (1801 – 1884).

A Farewell

One interview yet, and we’re parted,
The dawn of our friendship is o’er—
Desponding, worn, wasted, lone-hearted,
I dare not look forward to more.

Yet I will not, I cannot forget you;
Among the few hours I can call
Back to dream of, the hour when I met you
Will now be the sweetest of all.

I must not even whisper how often,
’Mid the passion, the folly, the strife
I mix in, your image will soften
The hardness and coldness of life.

How looks, tones and thoughts will come thronging,
And alas! for the wish may be vain—
How deep and how heartfelt the longing
To see you and hear you again!

Then farewell—I ask for no promise;
Who knows that a feeling will last?
But there’s one thing fate cannot take from us—
The affection that feeds on the past.


  1. beautiful, yet a lil depressive:(!

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