Last night as I stood in the gloaming's gray,
Ere the moon came into the sky,
He came to me for a last good-bye —
At last he is going away.
His face in the dusk showed stern and set,
Old and haggard and worn with pain;
“Dear, I may never see you again —
Mine but the meed regret!
How can I ask you to share my shame,
How can I give you my blemished name,
Yet how shall the heart forget?
Naught in my life save a dream have I,
A dream — a vision, too fair to be,
A rose that blooms‘ mid the rue for me —
Naught but a dream... Good-bye.”
And then, ere he lifted his bridle rein
To ride away down the dark'ning land,
He bent and touched with his lips the hand
I had laid on the chestnut's mane.