The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler/To A Friend of My Youth

To A Friend of My Youth
We met in childhood—careless met, Nor wept to think that we must sever; We parted with no fond regret— No tear lest we should part forever.

Our souls had not commingled then; The wreath of Friendship had not bound us; We knew not we should meet again,— And yet our parting did not wound us.

Again we met—long years have flown, The sun of youth has risen o'er us, And friends we loved have smiled and gone, And changing scenes have pass'd before us.—

We meet!—but not again to part, Without one transient pang of mourning; Oh no! the burning tear would start, At thought of joys no more returning.

For we have stray'd at silent eve, Beneath the crescent brightly beaming, And social converse loved to weave, Around the warm hearth cheerful gleaming.

We yet may part—in distant land Afar to roam we know not whither— But still be Friendship's flowery band The wreath that twines our souls together.