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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341676" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memoriam A. H. H.: 6. One writes, that Other Friends Rem</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">One writes, that &quot;Other friends remain,&quot; <br> That &quot;Loss is common to the race&quot;--<br> And common is the commonplace,<br> And vacant chaff well meant for grain.<br> That loss is common would not make<br> My own less bitter, rather more.<br> Too common! Never morning wore<br> To evening, but some heart did break.<br> O father, wheresoe'er thou be,<br> Who pledgest now thy gallant son,<br> A shot, ere half thy draught be done,<br> Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O mother, praying God will save<br> Thy sailor,--while thy head is bow'd,<br> His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud<br> Drops in his vast and wandering grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Ye know no more than I who wrought<br> At that last hour to please him well;<br> Who mused on all I had to tell,<br> And something written, something thought;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Expecting still his advent home;<br> And ever met him on his way<br> With wishes, thinking, &quot;here to-day,&quot;<br> Or &quot;here to-morrow will he come.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O somewhere, meek, unconscious dove,<br> That sitteth ranging golden hair;<br> And glad to find thyself so fair,<br> Poor child, that waiteth for thy love!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> For now her father's chimney glows<br> In expectation of a guest;<br> And thinking &quot;this will please him best,&quot;<br> She takes a riband or a rose;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> For he will see them on to-night;<br> And with the thought her colour burns;<br> And, having left the glass, she turns<br> Once more to set a ringlet right;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And, even when she turn'd, the curse<br> Had fallen, and her future Lord<br> Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford,<br> Or kill'd in falling from his horse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O what to her shall be the end?<br> And what to me remains of good?<br> To her, perpetual maidenhood,<br> And unto me no second friend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Lord+Tennyson">Alfred Lord Tennyson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341676" data-title="In Memoriam A. H. H.: 6. One writes, that Other Friends Rem de Alfred Lord Tennyson" data-description="One writes, that &quot;Other friends remain,&quot; 
 That &quot;Loss is common to the race&quot;--
 And common is the commonplace,
 And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
 That loss is common would not make
 My own less bitter, rather more.
 Too c..."></div>
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