TO A LOST COMRADE

We found the spring at eager noon,

And from one cup we drank;

Then on until the forest croon

In twilight tangle sank;

The night was ours, the stars, the dawn;

The manna crust, bird-shared;

And never failed our magic shoon,

Whatever way we fared.

If caged at last, ceased not the flow

Of sky-gleam through the bars;

And where were wounds I only know

Tear-kisses hid the scars.

And when, as round the world death-free

We wind-embodied roam,

I hear the gale that once was thee

Cry “Hollo!” I will come.