The poem
Perhaps, long hence, when I have passed away, Some other's feature, accent, thought like mine, Will carry you back to what I used to say, And bring some memory of your love's decline.
Then you may pause awhile and think, "Poor jade!" And yield a sigh to me-as gift benign, Not as the tittle of a debt unpaid To one who could to you her all resign-
And thus reflecting, you will never see That your thin thought, in two small words conveyed, Was no such fleeting phantom-thought to me, But the Whole Life wherein my part was played; And you amid its fitful masquerade A Thought-as I in yours but seem to be.