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We have been friends together In sunshine and in shade. Since first beneath the chestnut-tree In fancy we played But coldness dwells within thine heart A cloud is on thy brow. We have been friends together,- Shall a light word part us now?
I am listening for the voices Which I heard in days of old.
Love not! love not! ye hopeless sons of clay; Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers- Things that are made to fade and fall away, Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours.
A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers; There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears.
Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning- Oh friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning.
Every poet hopes that after-times Shall set some value on his votive lay.
O Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth To dim enchantments; melting heaven with earth, Leaving on craggy hills and running streams A softness like the atmosphere of dreams.
For death and life, in ceaseless strife, Beat wild on this world's shore, And all our calm is in that balm- Not lost but gone before.