Starry Runaway

by Katharine Lee Bates

No, no, Belovèd; starry runaway,
Even my heartbreak would not call thee back
To this pain-wasted majesty of clay,
But help me bear it, -- bear this almanac

On thine own desk, that tells me yesterday
Thy voice was still my courage, thy gray eyes
My joy, and sets in desolate array
The months to come. Yet thy far enterprise

My own belated soul shall soon essay,
In the pity of some certain hour set free
To seek my Life. 'Tis but a threshold stay,
A task or two, and then I'll follow thee.