The End of Joyousness
By Mary Gilmore
1892
Far down she hangs – the
yellow moon
That slowly sinks. Ah,
me! so soon
She will be gone. I here,
alone,
Await, while broken
sounds are blown
From out the dark’ning
caves of night,
Alone, await the end of
that
Which brought the
gladsomeness of light
Within the circlet of my
life.
Dear one, was love like
ours so small
A thing that we could
change and fall
Apart, and, drifting
farther, feel
No more the pulsings that
reveal
That love lies wakeful in
the heart?
Change so that all that
we had dreamed
Was fair, could be no
more a part
Of joyousness for you and
me?
O God! that this should
be! and yet,
When yonder radiant moon
is set,
Yon moon that droops so
low, so low,
Above the waiting west, I
know
That that from which my
being shrinks-
The aching pain of love
betrayed-
Will fill my heart. O
moon that sinks,
The end comes fast – set
not too soon.
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