I left thee last, a child at heart
a laughing boy yet scarce in years;
now to thee, a pitied thing,
that neither feels nor fears.
I have no breath to waste in sighs,
which layed this gloss o'er my eyes,
and sealed them safe from tears...
I meet you with your own cold look,
as calm and resolute as thou;
No words will heal this wretched wound,
nor break this solemn vow:
I promise my poor ravaged soul
shall ever after be unwhole...
It cannot vex thee now...
But out, (Alas!) these words are writ,
by a living, loving one,
with cheeks adorned by grief and hate,
and warm, quick tears that ever run...
to fall, in vain, upon cold stone...
now they, like me, are all alone...
~From a Friend~
