There in the crowd I knew him
And his eyes sought my face
With all the old assurance
Of that other place

Where I once saw receding
His eyes of steady flame,
And heard before we parted
His accents form my name.

Each in his path appointed
Hath breasted bitter years
And still the perfect knowledge
In this one face appears.

Ah me, I dared not tell him
Or lift my hand to save
The thing the grave had yielded
A moment from the grave.

The only thing I carry
Is his comprehending face
Who, well as I, remembers
Our parting in that place.