Op. 22, no. 9
To my Former One
A loss in love that touches me more nearly,
This utter loss of friendship have I felt.
The wound and scar that aches much more severely,
The pound of flesh whose loss I have been dealt.
I do not pine for kisses in the night,
Nor eyes adoring in their furtive glance.
I ceased to dwell upon our bitt'rest fight,
Or whether it had ever stood a chance.
But this I miss, that we were friends before,
In silence or in speech, through laughs or tears.
Confide, confess, it let my spirit soar
To trust you with the secrets of my years.
The one who coined "just friends"--O, what a hack!
My dearest friend is never coming back.