SMAD. An Organ of Student Opinion. 1936. Volume 7. Number 18.
Farewell
Farewell
Farewell, Victoria, what have I to give you?
My hands are made to grasp, I take my leave.
Farewell! The word is sad. Short years I knew you,
Your halls, familiar now, of them I take my leave.
To wilder climes my eyes are glued, in tears,
The voice that calls is cruel at this late hour.
There is one heart I leave with you to face the years,
The sun seeks daily his beloved flower.
O that plain of sleeping silver down below you,
Long, long nights I spent in rapture on its face.
No more these eyes of mine shall wake to view you,
No more the sun rise up in his accustomed place.
And if in later years my thoughts shall tarry,
At the grim, old gate of Memory, of one gem
Set in a bowl of crystal, in the South Sea's story,
Of you, Victoria, shall I dream and shape my requiem.
—M.L.