And we were friends, and, far into the nights,
Would analyze the wisdom of old days
By all the tests of Science in her prime;
Anon would tramp afield, to fruits and flowers,
And the long prototypes of trees and beasts
Graven in sandstone; so, at last, would come,
Through lanes of talk, to that perennial tree,—
The Tree of Life, on which redemption hangs.
But there fell out of tune; we parted there,
He bolstering up a creed too broad for me!