To Paul Hamilton Hayne

Not in this life shall we meet, O my friend, —
My friend unseen, but not unknown of me, —
My friend so far away beyond the sea.
To whose sequestered home my thoughts oft tend.
Nor dare I trust that some new life shall blend
Our lives together; yet strange things may be,
And sweet for thinking is the phantasy
That some new life this failure might amend;

And I might hear a voice, unheard till then.
And clasp a hand, till then unclasped of mine.
At once should I not know them to be thine, —
Poet, and man "who loves his fellow-men,"
Whose thoughts are pure and limpid as star-shine,
And greet thee by thy name, that happy when?