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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - At The Parting Of The Ways
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Here our roads part. Go thou by thy green valley,
 Thy youth before thee and the river Nile.
 My path lies o`er the desert, and my galley
 Has rougher seas to plough (and days) the while.
 I know not what to offer you: a smile,
 A blessing, a farewell? I dare not dally
 Even with the thought of tears. `Twas but a mile
 We walked together, and such things were folly.
 I will not hope, who have no faith in fate,
 That I shall you remember or you me
 Beyond to--morrow. Yet, perhaps the wind
 Blowing some morning through its Eastern gate
 May tell you of my fortune; and behind
 The Western star some evening I may see,
 As in a vision of far days more kind,
 Your dear eyes watching while the night grows blind.
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