Woodrow, Constance Davies. “Last Hour.” Canadian Mercury (Mar. 1929): 81.
Let there be only gladness in my going,
Though late of soon the inevitable call;
And if there be no future for my knowing,
Such sorry jest will touch me not at all.
For I shall be beyond the jesters’ seeking,
Beyond the spite and slander of my foes—
Ah, grief to them, that all their idle speaking
Should be as breath on every wind that blows!
Be mine the joy of birds that, tired of flying,
Behold at last the portals of the South;
Be mine nor prayers nor sorrow for the dying,
But lovers’ kisses warm upon my mouth!
Fill my last hour with song and lightest laughter:
My lovers, all your sweetest lies retell!
The, Death, your hand into the dark Hereafter!
Then, lovers, friends, and foes, a gay farewell!