Of pleasant time that here now ends:
Hand parts from hand, not heart from heart,
And I must leave you, O my friends!
What can the future's fairest hours
Bring me to recompense for these?
Acquaintances spring like the flowers—
Friends are slow growth, like forest trees.
Come hope or gladness, what there will—
Days bright as sunshine after rain—
The past gave life's best blessings still: