Introspective

I used to wonder if I really loved
    The old companions that I thought so dear;
For now that change has set us far removed
    I miss them less than they would care to hear.

I welcome them as kindly to my door;
    I visit them with pleasure: yet confess,
My visits, more infrequent than before,
    Prove them less needful to my happiness.

I used to wonder if the warmer flame
    That ever made romance for maids and men,
Were but a brief delirium that came,
    Burned itself cold, and left me sane again.

We loved each other fondly, she and I;
    But I have ceased to feel the meeting thrill;
I leave her now without the parting sigh;
    We sit together, and my pulse is still.

I used to wonder, in a gentle way,
    If nature, to divide the parting grief,
Has taught us to prepare for life's decay
    And shed our old affections leaf by leaf.

But two young eyes, a pair of pattering feet
    Have taught me otherwise: for in my heart
This newest love but makes my round complete,
    And in its warmth all older loves have part.