Yesterdays — Estranged

So well I knew your habits and your ways, That like a picture painted on the skies, At the sweet closing of the summer days, You stand before my eyes.

I see you on the old verandah there, While slow the shadows of the twilight fall, I see the very carving on the chair You tilt against the wall.

The West grows dim.

The faithful evening star Comes out and sheds its tender patient beam.

I almost catch the scent of your cigar, As you sit there and dream.

But dream of what?

I know your outward life-- Your ways, your habits; know they have not changed.

But has one thought of me survived the strife Since we two were estranged?

I know not of the workings of your heart;

And yet I sometimes make myself believe That I perchance do hold some little part Of reveries at eve.

I think you could not wholly put away The memories of a past that held so much.

As birds fly homeward at the close of day, A word, a kiss, a touch, Must sometimes come and nestle in your breast And murmur to you of the long ago.

Oh do they stir you with a vague unrest?

What would I give to know!