‘How far, O friend, are you and I apart While all these wastes of sea between us roll?’ ‘So far, that now, the beating of your heart Has merged into the flutter of your soul.’
‘How far, my dear, has your hand gone from mine In these long days and months since they have met?’ ‘So far that memory has forgot to pine, Believing that its touch is present yet.’
‘And O! how far, when night has fallen between, Shall we be set in all the years untold?’ ‘So near that you, when trouble’s blast is keen, Shall feel my shade between you and the cold.’
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