C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Separation

Translation of Emma Lazarus

AND so we twain must part! Oh, linger yet,—

Let me still feed my glance upon thine eyes.

Forget not, love, the days of our delight,

And I our nights of bliss shall ever prize.

In dreams thy shadowy image I shall see,—

Oh, even in my dream be kind to me!

Though I were dead, I none the less should hear

Thy step, thy garment rustling on the sand.

And if thou waft me greetings from the grave,

I shall drink deep the breath of that cold land.

Take thou my days, command this life of mine,

If it can lengthen out the space of thine.

No voice I hear from lips death-pale and chill,

Yet deep within my heart it echoes still.

My frame remains—my soul to thee yearns forth;

A shadow I must tarry still on earth.

Back to the body dwelling here in pain

Return, my soul; make haste and come again!