Friend of mine! whose lot was cast With me in the distant past; Where, like shadows flitting fast, Fact and fancy, thought and theme, Word and work, begin to seem Like a half-remembered dream! Touched by change have all things been, Yet I think of thee as when We had speech of lip and pen. For the calm thy kindness lent To a path of discontent, Rough with trial and dissent; Gentle words where such were few, Softening blame where blame was true, Praising where small praise was due; For a waking dream made good, For an ideal understood, For thy Christian womanhood; For thy marvellous gift to cull From our common life and dull Whatsoe'er is beautiful; Thoughts and fancies, Hybla's bees Dropping sweetness; true heart's-ease Of congenial sympathies;— Still for these I own my debt; Memory, with her eyelids wet, Fain would thank thee even yet! And as one who scatters flowers Where the Queen of May's sweet hours Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, In superfluous zeal bestowing Gifts where gifts are overflowing, So I pay the debt I'm owing. To thy full thoughts, gay or sad, Sunny-hued or sober clad, Something of my own I add; Well assured that thou wilt take Even the offering which I make Kindly for the giver's sake. 1851.
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