Estranged

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!