Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — The Meeting

After so long an absence        &nbsp At last we meet again: Does the meeting give us pleasure,        &nbsp Or does it give us pain? The tree of life has been shaken,        &nbsp And but few of us linger now, Like the Prophet's two or three berries        &nbsp In the top of the uppermost bough. We cordially greet each other        &nbsp In the old, familiar tone; And we think, though we do not say it,        &nbsp How old and gray he is grown! We speak of a Merry Christmas        &nbsp And many a Happy New Year But each in his heart is thinking        &nbsp Of those that are not here. We speak of friends and their fortunes,        &nbsp And of what they did and said, Till the dead alone seem living,        &nbsp And the living alone seem dead. And at last we hardly distinguish        &nbsp Between the ghosts and the guests; And a mist and shadow of sadness        &nbsp Steals over our merriest jests.