It is not only love That for one another we feel, But a strange, a strange identity, Like spokes of the same wheel. Yes, we have walked together, With buttercup dust on our shoes, Thro' the lovely rainy weather With nothing to win or lose, And the wild-rose scent of the hedges, And the wild-thyme scent of the hill, And the fresh, damp smell of the river sedges Are with us still. Can they ever come back again, Those infinite, mystical hours, With love dissolved in the rain And pain asleep in the flowers, Where the men we met were like men, On some God-like errand bound, And the girls we met were -- like girls, As the world goes round? Will they ever come back? Will they ever? Who can say? But at least they were, And God himself can never Of the past make empty air; Should one of us die, the other Will have two souls to keep -- His own and what was his brother Saved from sleep. For it is not only love That for one another we feel, But a strange, a strange identity, Like spokes of the same wheel! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GHOSTS OF THE BUFFALOES by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE SAD SHEPHERD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A SUMMER NIGHT by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE FROGS: THE FATAL OIL-FLASK by ARISTOPHANES THE DEAD BRONCHO-BUSTER by BERTON BRALEY SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 44 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |