Classic Poem

The lake comes throbbing in with voice of pain
Across these flats, athwart the sunset's glow;
I see her face, I know her voice again,
Her lips, her breath, O God, as long ago.

To live the sweet past over I would fain,
As lives the day in the red sunset's fire,
That all these wild, wan marshlands now would stain,
With the dawn's memories, loves and flushed desire.

I call her back across the vanished years,
Nor vain—a white-armed phantom fills her place;
Its eyes the wind-blown sunset fires, its tears
This rain of spray that blows about my face.