Sonnet CIII:
CIII
Parted again! Shall partings never cease?
After the rapture of a few short days,
Above whose brightest hour there glooms and weighs
A sense of something that destroys our peace—
A growing thought, whose sure and sad increase
No tear prevents, no loving prayer delays—
A point of time, on which we fix our gaze,
As the condemned who hope for no release;
After this clouded pleasure. must there come,
O God! at last the stern, unpitying knell
That says, as clearly as a tongue could tell,
Part, part! your love can have no common home;
No place is built where such as ye may dwell;
Part! and in parting, bow and kiss your doom!’
