by Philip Larkin
Love, we must part now: do not let it be
calamitous and bitter. In the past
there has been too much moonlight and self-pity:
let us have done with it: for now at last
never has sun more boldly paced the sky,
never were hearts more eager to be free,
to kick down worlds, lash forest; you and I
no longer hold them; we are husks, that see
the grain going forward to a different use.
There is regret. Always, there is regret.
But is better that our lives unloose,
as two tall ships, wind-mastered, we with light,
break from an estuary with their courses set,
and waving part, and waving drop from sight.