The White Cliffs by Alice Duer Miller

Strange to look back to the days So long ago When a friend was almost a foe, When you hurried to find a phrase For your easy light dispraise Of a spirit you did not know, A nature you could not plumb In the moment of meeting, Not guessing a day would come When your heart would ache to hear Other men's tongues repeating Those same light phrases that jest and jeer At a friend now grown so dear--so dear. Strange to remember long ago When a friend was almost a foe.