home *** CD-ROM | disk | FTP | other *** search
- A MEMORY OF YOUTH
-
- THE moments passed as at a play;
- I had the wisdom love brings forth;
- I had my share of mother-wit,
- And yet for all that I could say,
- And though I had her praise for it,
- A cloud blown from the cut-throat North
- Suddenly hid Love's moon away.
- Believing every word I said,
- I praised her body and her mind
- Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,
- And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
- And vanity her footfall light,
- Yet we, for all that praise, could find
- Nothing but darkness overhead.
- We sat as silent as a stone,
- We knew, though she'd not said a word,
- That even the best of love must die,
- And had been savagely undone
- Were it not that Love upon the cry
- Of a most ridiculous little bird
- Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.
- ALTHOUGH crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
- And even old men's eyes grew dim, this hand alone,
- Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-place
- Babbling of fallen majesty, records what's gone.
- These lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,
- These, these remain, but I record what-s gone. A crowd
- Will gather, and not know it walks the very street
- Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud
-