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<br/>
<h2> THE PASSING </h2>
<p>A time will come when we again shall rail—<br/>
Not yet, not yet. The flood comes on apace,<br/>
That deep dividing river, and her face<br/>
Grows dimmer as it widens—pale, so pale.<br/>
<br/>
Have we not railed and laughed these many days,<br/>
Mummers before the lights? Dear fool, your hand<br/>
Upon your lips—Oh let us once be grand,<br/>
Grand as we were when treading royal ways.<br/>
<br/>
Lo, there she moves beyond the river. Gone—<br/>
Gone is the sun-lo, starlight in her eyes.<br/>
See, how she standeth silent and alone—<br/>
<br/>
Oh, hush! let us not vex her with our cries.<br/>
Proud as of old, unto my throne I go. . . .<br/>
Cordelia’s gone...... Hush, draw the curtain—so.<br/></p>
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