We were all boys, and three of us were friends;
And we were more than friends, it seemed to me:—
Yes, we were more than brothers then, we three. . . .
Brothers? . . . But we were boys, and there it ends.
We never half believed the stuff
They told about James Wetherell;
We always liked him well enough,
And always tried to use him well;
But now some things have come to light,
And James has vanished from our view,—
There isn’t very much to write,
There isn’t very much to do.