Unforgotten

Last night in some dim corner of my brain, The while I slept, there woke a thought of thee That lit my sleep; for though no more I see Or hear thee, and no more may share my pain And pleasure with thee, in my heart remain Old words of our lost friendship that to me Are dear and sacred still, as things must be That have been and can never be again:

Dear as the boyhood’s hopes to which we cleave No longer--ah, no longer fancy led! Dear as the dreams the looms of Memory weave With many a lost and half-remembered thread; Sacred as those last kisses that we leave On the unknowing faces of our dead.