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.