Exile

By the sad waters of separation Where we have wandered by divers ways, I have but the shadow and imitation Of the old memorial days. In music I have no consolation, No roses are pale enough for me; The sound of the waters of separation Surpasseth roses and melody. By the sad waters of separation Dimly I hear from an hidden place The sigh of mine ancient adoration: Hardly can I remember your face. If you be dead, no proclamation Sprang to me over the waste, gray sea: Living, the waters of separation Sever for ever your soul from me. No man knoweth our desolation; Memory pales of the old delight; While the sad waters of separation Bear us on to the ultimate night.