A FRIEND by SYDNEY KING RUSSELL

I knew him well; we fenced at many a bout
As boys; jested, as you and I do now.
He was my friend before, till fame reached out
And laid the wreath of laurel on his brow.

And now he walks in kingly paths, and seeks
Only such friends as kings desire to own;
Now, with his head held high, he boldly speaks
Of visions. But he walks no more alone.

The friends that gather at the beck of fame
Feed on the glamour of his brief renown.
Among this crowd I found him, spoke his name
And sought to add a jewel to his crown

With word well-turned. Though my intent was fair,
Between us two the message went astray --
His answer strangely smote the empty air;
Somehow there was so little left to say.

He does not mean, I fancy, to forget;
A wound is quite the last thing he'd intend.
The cunning world but trapped him in her net
Of shining fame . . . and I have lost a friend.

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