Most sympathising of my friends
Is he who to my frailties lends
A cloak of charity, or sends
To me some kindly word;
Nor, when supinely I might yield,
To some mean foe an unfought field,
Would he, if I to him appealed,
Chide me, his friend, unheard.
Another friend I often find,
If I go wrong, who seems unkind,
Yet leaves me comforted, resigned,
After the pain is past.
He tells of the unequal fight
'Twixt my own weakness and the might
Of those all armored for the right;
How I might fail at last.
Some of my friends speak to me now
From 'neath the mounds where daisies grow,
They were friends who loved me so --
Methinks they love me yet.
Each tells of virtue where was rife
All evil, and, amid the strife,
Each gave a noble, sacred life
To win a coronet.
And there are friends I always knew,
Yet dearer to me daily grew,
As, erst and ever, I'd pursue
My studies by their speech.
On shelves, in tomes, they stand and lie;
As we commune I smile or sigh;
Err deshabille I am not shy
Of these, within my reach.
First published in The Australian Town and Country Journal, 20 August 1898
