Fate’s happy finger stretched to you, and I—
poor awkward, bashful lout—
Just stepped aside. But ’twas all right! I’m
not the sort to curse and whine,
My joy has been that she was yours, so long as
she could not be mine.
—My joy, old friend, is now to say, as here we
clasp this worn old post,
There is no heart-burn in my past, no shimmer of
a jealous ghost.