So often we sit thus, long evening through,
Spendthrift of dream and silence from a store
Of hopes and memories and love, so vast,
No want we know, no further boon implore.
Yet sometimes while in firelight revery
We draw to-morrow's strength from love at rest,
All suddenly I dream thy face grows pale,
Remote as of some strange, celestial guest:
Then to my boding heart Fear breathes; mark well
This friendly hour, this dear, familiar place,
For change will be: guard lest thy loneliness
Lack even remembrance of Joy's passing grace.