old friends

“Here I sit alone this chilly September morning, with
the rain just beginning to rattle on the roof, and the writing
of his name has sent my heart back to the happy hopeful
past when one was capable of everything because one had
not yet tried anything. The years have taught me some sharp
and some sweet lessons – none wiser than this, to keep the
old friends. Every year adds its value to a friendship as to a
tree, with no effort and no merit of ours. The lichens upon
the bark, which the dandyfiers of Nature would scrape away,
even the dead limbs here and there, are dear and sacred to us.
Every year adds its compound interest of association and
enlarges the circle of shelter and shade. It is good to plant
them early, for we have not the faith to do it when we are
old. I write it sadly and with tears in my eyes. Later friends
drink our lees, but the old ones drank the clear wine at the
brim of our cups. Who knew us when we were witty? who
when we were wise? who when we were green?”
J. R. Lowell