His greeting hands to the further side.
And our gladdest words rang strange and cold,
Like the echoes of other long-lost words;
And the nights were no more the nights of old
Than spring would be spring without the birds!
So they waned and waned, these visits of mine,
'Till I married the heiress, ending here.
For if caste approves the cigars and wine,
She must frown perforce upon pipes and beer.
And now 'tis years since I saw these men,