by Charles Sprague
Charles Sprague, American poet, was born in Boston in 1791, and died in 1875. He is entombed at Central Burying Ground in Boston Common. Sprague was called the Banker Poet of Boston as he worked in the banking industry for most of his life, and wrote poetry and prose for intellectual reasons. His poems are mostly about human emotion.
We are but two — the others sleep
Through Death's untroubled night;
We are but two — O, let us keep
The link that binds us bright!
Heart leaps to heart — the sacred flood
That warms us is the same;
That good old man — his honest blood
Alike we fondly claim.
We in one mother's arms were locked —
Long be her love repaid;
In the same cradle we were rocked,
Round the same hearth we played.
Our boyish sports were all the same,
Each little joy and woe; —
Let manhood keep alive the flame,
Lit up so long ago.
We are but two — be that the band
To hold us till we die;
Shoulder to shoulder let us stand,
Till side by side we lie.
— The Poetical and Prose Writings of Charles Sprague, New Edition, A. Williams & Co, 1876