Two Songs , opus 76

Who knows if we shall meet again?
Behind each parting lurks a fear;
We smile to hide the haunting pain--
The rising tear.

You tell me we shall meet, but where?
The way is dark, the world is wide.
I only know, in my despair,
Our paths divide.

You say that we shall meet, but how?
The years slip by and make us old;
'Tis easy to forget love's vow,
If hearts grow cold.

Why part then, if we do not know?
(Dear God, if one of us should die!)
I cannot, dare not let thee go;
Say not, "Good-bye!" 

  There is sweet music here that softer falls
    Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
  Or night-dews on still waters between walls
    Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
  Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
    Than tir'd eyelids upon tirèd eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
        Here are cool mosses deep,
        And thro' the moss the ivies creep,
  And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.