To a Friend Bound North after the Rebellion

In dangerous times we two came south;
Now you go north in safety, without me.
But remember my head growing white among strangers,
When you look on the blue of the mountains of home.
. . . The moon goes down behind a ruined fort,
Leaving star-clusters above an old gate . . .
There are shivering birds and withering grasses,
Whichever way I turn my face.