Do you think of me, as the days go by,
As Time, with his rude relentless tie,
Draws closer the veil o'er our youth's bright sky?
Do you sometimes think of me?
Was friendship's bud that joyous oped,
When in youth for warmer love we hoped,
So chilled by the grief with which we coped
That it blooms not now for me?
Was love's sweet breath that once did blow,
O'er our lives with gladness all aglow,
With gossip's dust polluted so
That you have no love for me?
Has remembrance entirely passed away?
Have I gone from the fields where your dear
I shall love you Dear to my dying day,
Pray sometimes think of me!
Colfax Burgoyne Harman, 1905