We were alone: the perfumed night,
Moonlighted, like a flower
Grew round us and exhaled delight
To bless that one sweet hour.
You stood where,‘ mid the white and gold,
The rose-fire through the gloom
Touched hair and cheek and garment's fold
With soft, ethereal bloom.
And when the vision seemed to swerve,
‘ T was but the flickering shine
That gave new grace, a lovelier curve,
To every dream-like line.
O perfect vision! Form and face
Of womanhood complete!
O rare ideal to embrace
And hold, from head to feet!
Could I so hold you ever — could
Your eye still catch the glow
Of mine — it were an endless good:
Together we should grow
One perfect picture of our love!...
Alas, the embers old
Fell, and the moonlight fell, above —
Dim, shattered, vapor-cold.
What ill befell these lovers? Shall I say?
What tragedy of petty care and sorrow?
Ye all know, who have lived and loved: if nay,
Then those will know who live and love tomorrow.
But here at least is what this opal said,
The fifth in number: and the next two bore
My fancy toward that dim world of the dead,
Where waiting spirits muse the past life o'er: