THE PASSING

A time will come when we again shall rail —

Not yet, not yet. The flood comes on apace,

That deep dividing river, and her face

Grows dimmer as it widens — pale, so pale.

Have we not railed and laughed these many days,

Mummers before the lights? Dear fool, your hand

Upon your lips — Oh let us once be grand,

Grand as we were when treading royal ways.

Lo, there she moves beyond the river. Gone —

Gone is the sun-lo, starlight in her eyes.

See, how she standeth silent and alone —

Oh, hush! let us not vex her with our cries.

Proud as of old, unto my throne I go....

Cordelia's gone...... Hush, draw the curtain — so.