| Poem: |
O sorrowful thought! But one more flying year,
and our ways part, perhaps no more to meet:
and must we, then, less dear
grow to each other, as the swift days fleet?
Look, as two boughs from one stem branching grow
apart, until their high leaves touch no longer;
save when some chance gust, stronger
than most, the one back to the other blow:
like that tree's branches, so shall we two be;
our paths how far divorced from where they started!
Yet still, however parted,
rooted in the dear past and memory.
Time cannot take those; for our souls are free,
whatever come. Then o when you have leisure
for old thoughts, think of me,
whose mind holds you for its most treasured treasure.
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