. . .Drifting, gliding, moving onward,[Pg 17] Tide and sky seem one deep blue; All in vain my eyes are yearning, You have drifted from my view. But there’s yet a broader current, Where our meeting barks will land; You and I still bound together, Heart to heart, and hand to hand. Looking Back. SHE opened a little worn package, Scarred yellow by Time’s ruthless hand; Disclosing a bundle of letters Tied up with a pale ribbon band. “These,” she said, “are like leaves from a fernery, Long pressed in a book with a flower; And the memories wafted up from them, Like perfume that follows a shower. “With no wormwood or gall in the essence, Few tares in life’s garden were sown; The clouds partly hiding the sunshine, Some weeds with the blossoms have grown. “But we loved”—here she held out a picture; A tear-drop was dimming her eye, . . . Read More