Deep mists of longing blur the land <br />as in your late October eve: <br />almost I think your hand might leave <br />its old caress upon my hand — <br />for sure this floating world of dream <br />hath touch'd that far reality <br />of memory's heaven; nor would I deem <br />the chance a strange one, if to thee <br />my feet should stray ere fall the night, <br />or, reaching to that lucent shore, <br />these eyes should wake on tenderer light <br />to greet the spring and thee once more.<br /><br />Christopher John Brennan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/deep-mists-of-longing-blur-the-land/
