Too Soon Away by Gilbert Parker — Read

Have I then found thee but to lose thee, friend?

But touched thee ere thou vanished from my gaze?

And when my soul is struggling from the maze / Of many conflicts, must our converse end?

Across the empty space that now shall spread / Between us, shall I never go to thee?

Or thou, beloved, never come to me, / Save but to whisper prayers above the dead?

Ah, cruel thought! Shall not Hope's convoy bear / To thee the reinforcements of my love?

Shall I not on thy white hand drop a tear

Of crowned joy, one day, where thou dost move / In thy place regally; even as now / I place my farewell token on thy brow?