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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409814" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Three Friends Of Mine</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I remember them, those friends of mine,<br>Who are no longer here, the noble three,<br>Who half my life were more than friends to me,<br>And whose discourse was like a generous wine,<br>I most of all remember the divine<br>Something, that shone in them, and made us see<br>The archetypal man, and what might be<br>The amplitude of Nature's first design.<br>In vain I stretch my hands to clasp their hands;<br>I cannot find them. Nothing now is left<br>But a majestic memory. They meanwhile<br>Wander together in Elysian lands,<br>Perchance remembering me, who am bereft<br>Of their dear presence, and, remembering, smile. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>In Attica thy birthplace should have been,<br>Or the Ionian Isles, or where the seas<br>Encircle in their arms the Cyclades,<br>So wholly Greek wast thou in thy serene<br>And childlike joy of life, O Philhellene!<br>Around thee would have swarmed the Attic bees;<br>Homer had been thy friend, or Socrates,<br>And Plato welcomed thee to his demesne.<br>For thee old legends breathed historic breath;<br>Thou sawest Poseidon in the purple sea,<br>And in the sunset Jason's fleece of gold!<br>O, what hadst thou to do with cruel Death,<br>Who wast so full of life, or Death with thee,<br>That thou shouldst die before thou hadst grown old! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>I stand again on the familiar shore,<br>And hear the waves of the distracted sea<br>Piteously calling and lamenting thee,<br>And waiting restless at thy cottage door.<br>The rocks, the sea-weed on the ocean floor,<br>The willows in the meadow, and the free<br>Wild winds of the Atlantic welcome me;<br>Then why shouldst thou be dead, and come no more?<br>Ah, why shouldst thou be dead, when common men<br>Are busy with their trivial affairs,<br>Having and holding? Why, when thou hadst read<br>Nature's mysterious manuscript, and then<br>Wast ready to reveal the truth it bears,<br>Why art thou silent! Why shouldst thou be dead? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>River, that stealest with such silent pace<br>Around the City of the Dead, where lies<br>A friend who bore thy name, and whom these eyes<br>Shall see no more in his accustomed place,<br>Linger and fold him in thy soft embrace<br>And say good night, for now the western skies<br>Are red with sunset, and gray mists arise<br>Like damps that gather on a dead man's face.<br>Good night! good night! as we so oft have said<br>Beneath this roof at midnight in the days<br>That are no more, and shall no more return.<br>Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed;<br>I stay a little longer, as one stays<br>To cover up the embers that still burn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>The doors are all wide open; at the gate<br>The blossomed lilacs counterfeit a blaze,<br>And seem to warm the air; a dreamy haze<br>Hangs o'er the Brighton meadows like a fate,<br>And on their margin, with sea-tides elate,<br>The flooded Charles, as in the happier days,<br>Writes the last letter of his name, and stays<br>His restless steps, as if compelled to wait.<br>I also wait; but they will come no more,<br>Those friends of mine, whose presence satisfied<br>The thirst and hunger of my heart. Ah me!<br>They have forgotten the pathway to my door!<br>Something is gone from nature since they died,<br>And summer is not summer, nor can be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</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=409814" data-title="Three Friends Of Mine de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="When I remember them, those friends of mine,
Who are no longer here, the noble three,
Who half my life were more than friends to me,
And whose discourse was like a generous wine,
I most of all remember the divine
Something, that shone in them, and..."></div>
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