XXIX. 'TIS WHEN WE SUFFER.
I
'Tis when we suffer gentlest thoughts
Within the bosom spring:
Ah! who shall say that pain is not
A most unselfish thing?
II
Long ere I knew thee, men had said
That I must be thy friend,
While thou by Itchin's grassy bank
Thy summer hours did spend.
III
So it came natural to me
To have thee for my brother:
And more and more each passing day
We grow into each other.
IV
And I have looked upon thee now
With gaze so long and true,
That all things near and round thee seem
Touched with the selfsame hue.
V
My very love for thy dear sake
Runs out on every side,
And joys with liberal waste to find
Its idols multiplied.
VI
To charm my pain, soft thoughts of thee
Doth willing memory bring,
Fragrant as is the leafy smell
Of rain-washed woods in spring.
VII
Yes—thou hast thrown on me once more
My boyhood's living glow,
And tears and smiles and childish joys
From their old fountains flow.
VIII
Unlike, and yet how like, two wills
That mould so passing well,
As waves that meet and make a calm
Caught by each other's spell.
IX
Each by its brother's heart delays
To learn its mystic motion,
Blends as it listens, and forgets
All the wild heaving ocean.
X
Old age, what is it but a name
For burning love departed?
We two shall be for ever boys,
If we are loyal-hearted.
