Classic Poem

I HAD a friend once, and she was to me
What fragrance is to flowers, or song to birds,—
Part of my being: but there came a time
(I cannot tell you how, or when, or where),
A time that severed us. There was no fierce,
Hot trouble at our parting. It was calm,
Because it was so gradual. Ere I knew,
We had grown cold at meeting, colder still
At our good-by. But, looking on it now,
After long years, I marvel at it all,
And weep more tears than I did then, by far,
Over this strange, sad parting, this blank wreck
Of love, and hope, and friendship, and warm trust.
Oh, it is pitiful,—this breaking up
Of human sympathy and sweet heart-tryst!
Had we so many friends—this friend and I—
That we could well afford to give the slip
Each to the other? drifting thus apart,
Like ships that meet upon some tropic sea
For one brief passing hour, exchange stale news,
Gossip of cargoes, or the last-made port,
Then sail away, each on its separate course,
And never dream, nor care, to meet again!

I think the heart grows chary of its friends,
As years and death do steal them from our grasp;
I could not let a friend go now as I
Did then; for I was thoughtless then and young.
Ah well! I wonder if she cares, or if
She ever thinks of those old, foolish days
When, with her hand in mine, we sat and talked,
And kissed each other 'twixt our happy words,
And vowed “eternal friendship,”—endless trust.
It may be so; and if this idle verse
(Albeit not so idle as it seems),
Should meet her eye,—I would, I would it might!—
She too may give a sigh to those old days,
And wish, with me, that one had been more true,
And both more patient,—that the olden time
Had less of bitterness mixed with its sweet,
Making the after-draught so drugged with pain
That, even now, tears come because of it.