Others shall ope accounts when we are gone;
Movings are all too frequent for regret;
Yet one methinks there is shall dream upon
Our name with soft remembrance, guard it yet
Like some pressed violet. I refer to John.
I know our postal service, know full well,
Though we have told them to what bourn we flit,
How many a missive shall obey the spell
Of the old false address inscribed on it.
And John shall bring them. And John's heart shall swell