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111
TO WILLIAM THOMPSON
Old friend, it was my earliest thought
That your name should be written here;
For sooth, if Friendship counts for aught,
I hold no living man so dear.
That your name should be written here;
For sooth, if Friendship counts for aught,
I hold no living man so dear.
Yet o'er my pages now I look,
And am, for very shame, deterred:
Of Love unending tells the book,
But of our Friendship not a word.
And am, for very shame, deterred:
Of Love unending tells the book,
But of our Friendship not a word.
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