Say what good-bye
We owe to those who lived unstained by guile,
Who seemed to die,
But made their death a smile,
As though to promise we should meet within
A little while.

Is this good-bye,
To sorrow o’er the blood-red pall of day,
Till in the sky
Faint tapers coldly pray;
And think our joy died like the buried sun’s
Last golden ray?

Is this good-bye,
To tread on sallow leaves in autumn rain,
And hear winds sigh
An echo of our pain;
And think that never can the bud-crowned spring
Return again?

Is this good-bye,
To watch the myriad falling flakes of snow
Whirl down and lie
Upon the fields below;
And think the wonted path is now too dim
For us to know?

Not so: good-bye
Means faith in love kept warm by robes of white,
Faith to deny
The death of any light,
Faith that to-morrow will be yesterday
Without its night.