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Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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!
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems:
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