Speed the Parting—

Elinor Wylie

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!