The touch of flame--the illuminating fire--the loftiest look at last, O’er city, passion, sea--o’er prairie, mountain, wood--the earth itself, The airy, different, changing hues of all, in failing twilight, Objects and groups, bearings, faces, reminiscences; The calmer sight--the golden setting, clear and broad: So much i’ the atmosphere, the points of view, the situations whence we scan, Bro’t out by them alone--so much (perhaps the best) unreck’d before; The lights indeed from them--old age’s lambent peaks. After the Supper and Talk After the supper and talk--after the day is done, As a friend from friends his final withdrawal prolonging, Good-bye and Good-bye with emotional lips repeating, (So hard for his hand to release those hands--no more will they meet, No more for communion of sorrow and joy, of old and young, A far-stretching journey awaits him, to return no more,) Shunning, postponing severance--seeking to ward off the last word ever so little, E’en at the exit-door turning--charges superfluous calling back-- e’en as he descends the steps, Something to eke out a minute additional--shadows of nightfall deepening, Farewells, messages lessening--dimmer the forthgoer’s visage and form, Soon to be lost for aye in the darkness--loth, O so loth to depart! Garrulous to the very last. BOOKXXXV. GOOD-BYE MY FANCY Sail out for Good, Eidolon Yacht! Heave the anchor short! Raise main-sail and jib--steer forth, O little white-hull’d sloop, now speed on really deep waters, (I will not call it our concluding voyage, But outset and sure entrance to the truest, best, maturest;) Depart, depart from solid earth--no more returning to these shores, Now on for aye our infinite free venture wending, Spurning all yet tried ports, seas, hawsers, densities, gravitation, Sail out for good, eidolon yacht of me! Lingering Last Drops And whence and why come you? We know not whence, (was the answer,) We only know that we drift here with the rest, That we linger’d and lagg’d--but were wafted at last, and are now here, To make the passing shower’s concluding drops. Good-Bye My Fancy Good-bye my fancy--(I had a word to say, But ’tis not quite the time--The best of any man’s word or say, Is when its proper place arrives--and for its meaning, I keep mine till the last.) On, on the Same, Ye Jocund Twain!