A Last Word


A Last Word

Let us go hence: the night is now at hand ;
The day is overworn, the birds all flown ;
And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown ;
Despair and death ; deep darkness o’er the land,
Broods like an owl: we cannot understand
Laughter or tears, for we have only known
Surpassing vanity: vain things alone
Have driven our perverse and aimless band.

Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold,
To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust
Find end of labour, where’s rest for the old,
Freedom to all from love and fear and lust.
Twine our torn hands! O pray the earth enfold
Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust.


One response to “A Last Word”

  1. I first encountered Swinburne’s “A Leave-Taking” in Eugene O’Neill’s play, “Long Day’s Journey Into Night.” I decided to re-read the play, and found another great poem contained within—a poem called “Non Sum Qualis eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae” by Ernest Dowson. I don’t know much about Dowson, but that he died at 32 after a long despondency, having weathered rejection by the 14-year old girl he had been “courting” and the suicides of both his parents. I did manage to find several other poems of his, though, including the one above. This poem caught my eye primarily because it opens with the same four words as “A Leave-Taking” and shares a stronger kinship with much of Swinburne’s work, but Minerva’s owl makes a dark and brooding appearance as well. I’m not suggesting this for the group; just thought I’d share a lucky find that I enjoyed.