The Sentimentalist

In after years, if years find us together,
How we shall tell each other the old tale
Of this brave time, when through this doubtful weather
For Love's Hesperides we two set sail !

From opposite far shores fate bid us start,
We knew not whither and we cared not then —
And shall we meet? Or shall we drift apart ?
Or meet and part, never to meet again ?

And if the after years find us asunder ? —
Well, I may brood over this broken rime,
While you perhaps in some far place may wonder
If I think ever still of this old time.