Two lovers part, fully aware this may be forever. The speaker insists his will is firm, but his heart fights against it. There’s no softening the blow — the road ahead is brutally clear, so they won’t pretend with half-hearted steps or false comfort. She will go east, he west, and they refuse to speak of hope because it feels impossibly distant. Yet the poem turns on a quiet, strange vision: a time far in the future when grief itself, tenderly nursed like a child through long widowhood, finally dies. Then, with dry eyes and a mind calm enough to notice peach-blossom evening skies, they might unknowingly complete their exile’s circle and meet, astonished. The bitter journey doesn’t vanish; it seasons their reunion, making their contentment endless and their tears of recognition something that will never dry. The mood is one of sorrowful clarity, held in tension with a fragile, unspoken possibility that feels more bittersweet than hopeful.
A Farewell — Summary
With all my will, but much against my heart, We two now part. My Very Dear, Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. It needs no art, With faint, averted feet And many a tear, In our opposèd paths to persevere. Go thou to East, I West. We will not say There 's any hope, it is so far away. But, O, my Best, When the one darling of our widowhead, The nursling Grief, Is dead, And no dews blur our eyes To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies, Perchance we may, Where now this night is day, And even through faith of still averted feet, Making full circle of our banishment, Amazèd meet; The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet Seasoning the termless feast of our content With tears of recognition never dry.