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Their Sweet Sorrow.
By James Whitcomb Riley
They meet to say farewell: Their way
Of saying this is hard to say. -
He holds her hand an instant, wholly
Distressed - and she unclasps it slowly.
He bends his gaze evasively
Over the printed page that she
Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder
Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her.
The clock, beneath its crystal cup,
Discreetly clicks - "Quick! Act! Speak up!"
A tension circles both her slender
Wrists - and her raised eyes flash in splendor,
Even as he feels his dazzled own. -
Then, blindingly, round either thrown,
They feel a stress of arms that ever
Strain tremblingly - and "Never! Never!"
Is whispered brokenly, with half
A sob, like a belated laugh, -
While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes,
Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's.
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