FOR ***
Reading edition
FOR ***
NO eyes shall see the poems that I write For you; not even yours; but after long Forgetful years have passed on our delight Some hand may chance upon a dusty song
Of those fond days when every spoken word Was sweet, and all the fleeting things unspoken Yet sweeter, and the music half unheard Murmured through forests as a charm unbroken.
It is the plain and ordinary page Of two who loved, sole-spirited and clear. Will you, O stranger of another age, Not grant a human and compassionate tear To us, who each the other held so dear? A single tear fraternal, sadly shed, Since that which was so living, is so dead.