by Frank Dempster Sherman
Love, when we parted, you and I,
Who had been friends so many years,
How many times a last good-by
Rose to the surface of my tears!
There never once to it you cast
A strand of hope its life to save,
But watched it to the very last,
And saw it sink into its grave.
And now to you, away so far,
The winging of that spirit-word
As futile seems as to a star
The flight of some enamored bird!
Source:Lyrics For A Lute
Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin, and Company