"Mistake me not, if I to thee impart,
In words ungraced by eloquence or art,
The wounded feelings and the deep regret
That have oppressed my heart since last we met.

I had believed our souls, by many a token,
Bound in a friendship, never to be broken;
And that the sympathy which drew thee nigh
Was of an essence far too pure to die.

I know I saw in thee the pride and power
Of cultured intellect, man's richest dower;
Enshrined in manly grace and noble form,
And rife with feelings generous and warm.

And I, ah, well my own sad heart I knew,
And would to heaven that thou hadst known it too;
I felt my soul to be a twin to thine,
Mated for aye in sympathy divine.

Yet wouldst thou break the chain, and now our souls
Are thrust asunder further than the poles;
Yet thou alone are changed - my spirit yet
Looks on the past with sorrow and regret.

I blame thee not that thou art changed in heart;
It was perchance our destiny to part:
Yet in the world thou'll seek for many a day
A truth like that which thou has thrown away."