Thomas Hardy
Saying Good-bye
We are always saying
  “Good-bye, good-bye!”
In work, in playing,
In gloom, in gaying:
  At many a stage
  Of pilgrimage
  From youth to age
  We say, “Good-bye,
    Good-bye!”
We are undiscerning
  Which go to sigh,
Which will be yearning
For soon returning;
  And which no more
  Will dark our door,
  Or tread our shore,
  But go to die,
    To die.
Some come from roaming
  With joy again;
Some, who come homing
By stealth at gloaming,
  Had better have stopped
  Till death, and dropped
  By strange hands propped,
  Than come so fain,
    So fain.
So, with this saying,
  “Good-bye, good-bye,”
We speed their waying
Without betraying
  Our grief, our fear
  No more to hear
  From them, close, clear,
  Again: “Good-bye,
    Good-bye!”
