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As drifting logs of wood may haply meet On ocean's waters surging to and fro, And having met, drift once again apart, So, fleeting is the intercourse of men. E'en as a traveler meeting with the shade Of some o'erhung tree, awhile reposes, Then leaves its shelter to pursue his ways, So men meet friends, then part with them for ever.

As two floating planks meet and part on the sea, O friend! so I met and then drifted from thee.

Like a plank of driftwood Tossed on the watery main, Another plank encountered, Meets, touches, parts again; So tossed, and drifting ever, On life's unresting sea, Men meet, and greet, and sever, Parting eternally.

Like driftwood spares which meet and pass Upon the boundless ocean-plain, So on the sea of life, alas! Man nears man, meets, and leaves again.

We met--'twas a crowd.

Two lives that once part, are as ships that divide When, moment on moment, there rushes between The one and the other, a sea;-- Ah, never can fall from the days that have been A gleam on the years that shall be!

As vessels starting from ports thousands of miles apart pass close to each other in the naked breadth of the ocean, nay, sometimes even touch in the dark.

The joy of meeting not unmixed with pain.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness: So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

In life there are meetings which seem Like a fate.

And soon, too soon, we part with pain, To sail o'er silent seas again.

Some day, some day of days, threading the street With idle, heedless pace, Unlooking for such grace, I shall behold your face! Some day, some day of days, thus may we meet.

But now will canker sorrow eat my bud And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghost, As dim and meagre as an ague's fit, And so he'll die; and rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven I shall not know him.

When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

We twain have met like the ships upon the sea, Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet: One little hour! and then, away they speed On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam, To meet no more.

Alas, by what rude fate Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet, Then part forever on their courses fleet.

We shall meet but we shall miss her.