ESTRANGED

So well I knew your habits and your ways,

That like a picture painted on the skies,

At the sweet closing of the summer days,

You stand before my eyes.

I see you on the old verandah there,

While slow the shadows of the twilight fall,

I see the very carving on the chair

You tilt against the wall.

The West grows dim. The faithful evening star

Comes out and sheds its tender patient beam.

I almost catch the scent of your cigar,

As you sit there and dream.

But dream of what? I know your outward life —

Your ways, your habits; know they have not changed.

But has one thought of me survived the strife

Since we two were estranged?

I know not of the workings of your heart;

And yet I sometimes make myself believe

That I perchance do hold some little part

Of reveries at eve.

I think you could not wholly put away

The memories of a past that held so much.

As birds fly homeward at the close of day,

A word, a kiss, a touch,

Must sometimes come and nestle in your breast

And murmur to you of the long ago.

Oh do they stir you with a vague unrest?

What would I give to know!