Of the foolish sort are left to roam at large,
Do all acts of folly and sin and shame!
Thy paths are mystery!
Yet I will not think
Sweet friend, but we shall one day meet and live
In quietness, and die so, fearing God;
Or if not—and these false suggestions be
A fit of the weak nature, loath to part
With what it loved so long and held so dear,—
If thou art to be taken and I left