Oliver Wendell Holmes (Оливер Уэнделл Холмс)
The Parting Word
I MUST leave thee, lady sweet Months shall waste before we meet; Winds are fair and sails are spread, Anchors leave their ocean bed; Ere this shining day grow dark, Skies shall gird my shoreless bark. Through thy tears, O lady mine, Read thy lover's parting line. When the first sad sun shall set, Thou shalt tear thy locks of jet; When the morning star shall rise, Thou shalt wake with weeping eyes; When the second sun goes down, Thou more tranquil shalt be grown, Taught too well that wild despair Dims thine eyes and spoils thy hair. All the first unquiet week Thou shalt wear a smileless cheek; In the first month's second half Thou shalt once attempt to laugh; Then in Pickwick thou shalt dip, Slightly puckering round the lip, Till at last, in sorrow's spite, Samuel makes thee laugh outright. While the first seven mornings last, Round thy chamber bolted fast Many a youth shall fume and pout, "Hang the girl, she's always out!" While the second week goes round, Vainly shall they ring and pound; When the third week shall begin, "Martha, let the creature in." Now once more the flattering throng Round thee flock with smile and song, But thy lips, unweaned as yet, Lisp, "Oh, how can I forget!" Men and devils both contrive Traps for catching girls alive; Eve was duped, and Helen kissed,— How, oh how can you resist? First be careful of your fan, Trust it not to youth or man; Love has filled a pirate's sail Often with its perfumed gale. Mind your kerchief most of all, Fingers touch when kerchiefs fall; Shorter ell than mercers clip Is the space from hand to lip. Trust not such as talk in tropes, Full of pistols, daggers, ropes; All the hemp that Russia bears Scarce would answer lovers' prayers; Never thread was spun so fine, Never spider stretched the line, Would not hold the lovers true That would really swing for you. Fiercely some shall storm and swear, Beating breasts in black despair; Others murmur with a sigh, You must melt, or they will die: Painted words on empty lies, Grubs with wings like butterflies; Let them die, and welcome, too; Pray what better could they do? Fare thee well: if years efface From thy heart love's burning trace, Keep, oh keep that hallowed seat From the tread of vulgar feet; If the blue lips of the sea Wait with icy kiss for me, Let not thine forget the vow, Sealed how often, Love, as now.
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