A BOOK OF SONNETS

When I remember them, those friends of mine,

Who are no longer here, the noble three,

Who half my life were more than friends to me,

And whose discourse was like a generous wine,

I most of all remember the divine

Something, that shone in them, and made us see

The archetypal man, and what might be

The amplitude of Nature's first design.

In vain I stretch my hands to clasp their hands;

I cannot find them. Nothing now is left

But a majestic memory. They meanwhile

Wander together in Elysian lands,

Perchance remembering me, who am bereft

Of their dear presence, and, remembering, smile.