 | Poems |  |
THE RECONCILIATION.
Your hand, your hand; friend, friend, not so,
Believe me, that we'll part;
A moment's difference blots not out
Long records of the heart;
The friendship of a score of years
A moment's heat shall stand;
A true heart's easier lost than won;
Old friend, your hand, your hand!
Believe me, that we'll part;
A moment's difference blots not out
Long records of the heart;
The friendship of a score of years
A moment's heat shall stand;
A true heart's easier lost than won;
Old friend, your hand, your hand!
Ay, like yourself, a throbbing heart
Within a warm true clasp;
I knew you never could put back
Your old friend's offered grasp.
That pride has sturdier root than ours,
That 'twixt us two shall stand,
That long shall thrust us heart from heart,
Or friendly hand from hand!
Within a warm true clasp;
I knew you never could put back
Your old friend's offered grasp.
That pride has sturdier root than ours,
That 'twixt us two shall stand,
That long shall thrust us heart from heart,
Or friendly hand from hand!
| Poems | |