J. D. R.
THE friends that are, and friends that were,
What shallow waves divide!
I miss the form for many a year
Still seated at my side.
I miss him, yet I feel him still
Amidst our faithful band,
As if not death itself could chill
The warmth of friendship’s hand.
His story other lips may tell,—
For me the veil is drawn;
I only knew he loved me well,
He loved me—and is gone!
