A Farewell

My fairest child, I have no song to give you;

No lark could pipe in skies so dull and gray;

Yet, if you will, one quiet hint I'll leave you,

For every day.

I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol

Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down

To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel

Than Shakespeare's crown.

Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;

Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long;

And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever,

One grand sweet song.