I sit beside you, this last afternoon,
And watch the sunset’s change from gold to grey,
That mirrors well my life of yesterday
Where shadows, born of twilight, fell so soon.
And yet, you seemed so womanly and true—
I never guessed “’Twas but to kill the time!”
For I, who dwelt in Passion’s summer clime,
Played for a life that centred all in you.
I’ve spun no webs, as money-spiders spin,
Nor stacked the shining shekels row on row;
And yet I have one plea—I love you so!
And fatuously dreamed that love might win.
For me this old world smiled when you were by;
Life’s circles spread their limits wider yet;
There came no grey train-bearers of regret
To grace the triumph of hypocrisy.
My heart throbbed to the rustle of your dress;
My soul drank in each message of your eyes;
For Love, they say, is all our paradise,
And wanting Love, this life were nothingness.
But ere we part—O girl grown worldly-wise!—
I place one glory-rose amid your hair,
And kiss your lips, with something of despair:
For, Dear, I love you yet—and yet despise.