(Written upon leaving Kingswood, on the last day at college)
Last hour now come,
Mingle where I made school boy speeches,
Laughed, reigned, bungled,
And was loved and hated by teachers —
The farewell whisper in croaking tones to hum,
The day, for a moment, unthought
At all — that day, too ordinary, has come.
Like a train along the static rails of time:
The college moves like a film before wet eyes —
And, a passenger, bound by ticket with an exit
As each lived memory, renews and dies.
A group photograph — your ultimate fate
And oblivion as the days would roll;
As to all past years, new years will add
And make you a faded souvenir, the whole.
Live through the grief of parting, this hour,
Halls, pillars, dead cement that feelings enforce
As rafters, roof tops, empty chairs, desks stare
Past year after year, whom the story knows.
The shade will grow to cover who wills its blessing
And remain to its shade too loving and true —
How come you little dire, despair or fret
Now that I am no more one of you?