by Luis G. Dato
‘Tis strange that I should falter in this hour,
As thus we stand in the last light of day,
Strange that my lips refuse their word to say,
As in your hands you crush a silk-blown flower.
We must forget, it is not so? forget,
Though through the long hours of night alone
With my own heart, I had not will to own
This grief of heart, and leave with no regret.
‘Tis strange that in my last hour I should still
Falter and feel alone my heart grow pale,
Forgive me and forget that I should fail,
That in this dusk my love should shake my will,
And were oblivion death, yet from me have
Farewell, for love itself bids us be brave.
