The Walk
You did not walk with meOf late to the hill-top treeBy the gated ways,As in earlier days;You were weak and lame,So you never came,And I went alone, and I did not mind,Not thinking of you as left behind.
I walked up there to-dayJust in the former way:Surveyed aroundThe familiar groundBy myself again:What difference, then?Only that underlying senseOf the look of a room on returning thence.
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