Friends

Down through the woods, along the way     That fords the stream; by rock and tree,     Where in the bramble-bell the bee     Swings; and through twilights green and gray     The redbird flashes suddenly,     My thoughts went wandering to-day.     I found the fields where, row on row,     The blackberries hang dark with fruit;     Where, nesting at the elder's root,     The partridge whistles soft and low;     The fields, that billow to the foot     Of those old hills we used to know.     There lay the pond, all willow-bound,     On whose bright face, when noons were hot,     We marked the bubbles rise; some plot     To lure us in; while all around     Our heads, - like faery fancies, - shot     The dragonflies without a sound.     The pond, above which evening bent     To gaze upon her gypsy face;     Wherein the twinkling night would trace     A vague, inverted firmament;     In which the green frogs tuned their bass,     And firefly sparkles came and went.     The oldtime place we often ranged,     When we were playmates, you and I;     The oldtime fields, with boyhood's sky     Still blue above them! - Naught was changed:     Nothing. - Alas! then, tell me why     Should we be? whom the years estranged.