Exile

By the sad waters of separation
    Where we have wandered by divers ways,
  I have but the shadow and imitation
    Of the old memorial days.

In music I have no consolation,
    No roses are pale enough for me;
  The sound of the waters of separation
    Surpasseth roses and melody.

By the sad waters of separation
    Dimly I hear from an hidden place
  The sigh of mine ancient adoration:
    Hardly can I remember your face.

If you be dead, no proclamation
    Sprang to me over the waste, gray sea:
  Living, the waters of separation
    Sever for ever your soul from me.

No man knoweth our desolation;
    Memory pales of the old delight;
  While the sad waters of separation
    Bear us on to the ultimate night.