Speed the Parting—

I shall not sprinkle with dust A creature so clearly lunar; You must die—but of course you must— And better later than sooner. But if it should be in a year That year itself must perish; How dingy a thing is fear, And sorrow, how dull to cherish! And if it should be in a day That day would be dark by evening, But the morning might still be gay And the moon have golden leavening. And beauty’s a moonlight grist That comes to the mills of dying; The silver grain may be missed But there’s no great good in crying. Though luminous things are mould They survive in a glance that crossed them, And it’s not very kind to scold The empty air that has lost them. The limpid blossom of youth Turns into a poison berry; Having perceived this truth I shall not weep but be merry. Therefore die when you please; It’s not very wise to worry; I shall not shiver and freeze; I shall not even be sorry. Beautiful things are wild; They are gone, and you go after; Therefore I mean, my child, To charm your going with laughter. Love and pity are strong, But wisdom is happily greater; You will die, I suppose, before long, Oh, worser sooner than later!