.

    January

   , 1861.

   Well! years and years have pass’d,—and lo! thy writing

   Comes to my hands again,—and, strange to say,

   I think of times when the world’s school, inviting

   Our early friendship, new before us lay;—

   Now I can laugh at foolish shame—delighting

   In thee, for I am old—my hair is grey,—

   And I will call thee friend, as then—not coldly,

   But proudly to the world—and claim thee boldly.

   My dear, dear Friend! the cunning air hath led me

   Through paths less dark and less perplexed than thine,

   Struggling for blue, bright dawnings, have I sped me,

   But little, little glory has been mine.

   Yet can the Grey Man boast not that he had me

   Fast by

    my

   shadow! Nay! he must resign

   His claims on me,—my shadow’s mine. I boast it,—

 Prev. P 6/56 next