Читать книгу Rubble and Roseleaves and Things of That Kind - Frank William Boreham - Страница 9

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And, last and saddest of all, there is the bell that we did not ring. We half thought of it; we heard afterwards how welcome a call would have been; but the contemplated visit was not paid.

Around the corner I have a friend,

In the great city that has no end.

Yet days go by and weeks rush on,

And before I know it a year is gone;

And I never see my old friend's face,

For life is a swift and terrible race.

He knows I love him just as well

As in the days when I rang his bell

And he rang mine. We were younger then,

And now we are busy, tired men—

Tired with playing a foolish game,

Tired with trying to make a name.

'To-morrow,' I say, 'I will call on Jim,

Just to show that I'm thinking of him.'

But to-morrow comes and to-morrow goes,

And the distance between us grows and grows,

Around the corner—yet miles away....

'Here's a telegram, sir.' 'Jim died to-day!'

And that's what we get and deserve in the end—

Around the corner a vanished friend.

I really intended to have pressed the button at Jim's door; but the good intentions did not ring the bell; and I am left to nurse my lifelong remorse.

I really intended to have answered the door when a Visitor Divine stood gently knocking there; but the good intention did not let Him in; He turned sadly and wearily away; and I am left to my shame and my everlasting regret.