Classic Poem

You will go back, — because he bids you come
And stand with him to prove the tales untrue, —
Until at last the whispers shall grow dumb,
And men forget the thing they guessed or knew.
And as the folly of an hour, at most;
Our love shall be remembered down the years —
A brightness dust-obscured, a vision lost,
Shall be the secret of our passionate tears.
To him, — I seem a rogue who half-succeeded,
And you, frail beauty almost led astray.
All the fierce splendor that our spirits needed
Already fades, a ghost of yesterday.
Well then, go back! Be a good wife and true.
What can you say to me, or I to you?