To a Friend
On His Departure for a Tour Round the World
By Edgar Fawcett
In losing thee, dear friend, I seem to fare
Forth from the lintel of some chamber bright,
Whose lamps in rosy sorcery lend their light
To flowery alcove or luxurious chair;
Whose burly and glowing logs, of mellow flare,
The happiest converse at their hearth invite,
With many a flash of tawny flame to smite
The Dante in vellum or the bronze Voltaire!
And yet, however stern the estrangement be,
However time with laggard lapse may fret,
That haunt of our fond friendship I shall hold
As loved this hour as when elate I see
Its draperies, dark with absence and regret,
Slide softly back on memory’s rings of gold!