Our friendship is a green and shady lane
Closed at the further end by one high wall,
Across which we can see, full bloomed and tall,
Like glowing fires through a misty pane,
The scarlet summer-spinning of the trees.
Our friendship is a straight and grass-edged way
That we can pace with calm, unfearing eye;
Yet something cried across its peace to-day,
Reminding that beyond the wall they lie,
The goblets of the flowers, the brown-winged bees.
And all was still by plain and well-known wold;
The smooth blades kept the greyness of the dew,
The words that custom taught us seemed so cold,
My wet eyes fell before a look from you;
Stricken, we stood and gazed at those far trees.
If we could be as once we used to be,
The green and gentle twilight of the lane
Would all suffice; the clipt unflowering tree
Would bring content to eyes that now in vain
Ache for a glimpse of honey cups and bees.
First published in The Bulletin, 3 April 1913
