TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND.
Thou comest back unto me like a ghost;
And all the years that have been buried long
In silence, at thy aspect, crowd and throng
Each portal of my mind—a Phantom host.
Now will we commune with that cloud-like train
Awhile, then send them to their rest again;
For all their forms are pale and colourless;
Not from their full Joy-vintage could we press
The wealth of this day's gleanings! nay, the woes
That we have known since then have nobler shows.
And all their "more" sounds feebler than our "less."
And all the years that have been buried long
In silence, at thy aspect, crowd and throng
Each portal of my mind—a Phantom host.
Now will we commune with that cloud-like train
Awhile, then send them to their rest again;
For all their forms are pale and colourless;
Not from their full Joy-vintage could we press
The wealth of this day's gleanings! nay, the woes
That we have known since then have nobler shows.
And all their "more" sounds feebler than our "less."
We parted in the blossom and the bud,
Now in the bloom-time of Life's perfect Rose
We meet; and though it may not yet unclose
Each petal, for that earth lies ever cold
About its roots, and in their conflict rude,
Rough, biting winds have bowed its head, and strewed
Some leaves upon the ground; yet hath it won
From shower and shining, from the moulds and sun
Deep colours, odours richer than of old!
Now in the bloom-time of Life's perfect Rose
We meet; and though it may not yet unclose
Each petal, for that earth lies ever cold
About its roots, and in their conflict rude,
Rough, biting winds have bowed its head, and strewed
Some leaves upon the ground; yet hath it won
From shower and shining, from the moulds and sun
Deep colours, odours richer than of old!
