There is a mystic borderland that lies Just past the limits of our workday world, And it is peopled with the friends we met And loved a year, a month, a week or day, And parted from with aching hearts, yet knew That through the distance we must loose the hold Of hand with hand, and only clasp the thread Of memory. But still so close we feel this land, So sure we are that these same hearts are true, That when in waking dreams there comes a call That sets the thread of memory aglow, We know that just by stretching out the hand In written word of love, or book, or flower, The waiting hand will clasp our own once more Across the distance, in the same old way. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEATH OF LYON by HENRY PETERSON THE PRINCESS: [BUGLE] SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON FACING AN HOUR-GLASS by ELFRIDA DE RENNE BARROW A.G.A. (3) by EMILY JANE BRONTE A SAINT'S HOURS by SARAH NORCLIFFE CLEGHORN DUST-BOWL by DAISY LEMON COLDIRON BLAZING IN GOLD by EMILY DICKINSON |