A Fancied Loss

If some day in your heart is born the thought
That one held dear is careless of the gift
Of tenderness, so fully, freely given,
I pray you, friend, to strangle it at birth.

There are no losses half so real to us,
As losses which are not--have never been--
A friendship gone! we say, and drop a tear
For wasted faith, and love, and loyalty.

When, if we did but know the simple truth,
The gladness in these foolish hearts of ours--
The gladness and the full content would leave
No room for sadness, and no place for doubt.