friendship poem

and breaketh bread no more
long ago, in the young moonlight
her face is fair and smooth and fine
for truth, for love
sweet with fern and rose
one sweetly solemn thought
but i cannot read you now
and my name is truthful
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
high walls and huge
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
along the banks