Classic Poem

The arclight silvered every leaf
Above the fountained linden-square,
Enmarbling, for an hour too brief,
Stone flag and ivied stair
Down to the jetted pool that poured its crystals high in air.

From boughs above a trembling shade
Fell round us on the old-time seat;
Upon your hands it paused and played,
It fluttered round your feet;
Crowning your bended head, its light caressing fingers beat.

There was no sound save water stirred,
And whispers of the tongues of trees,
Unless it was our hearts we heard
Throbbing mute melodies
That rose unto our lips — yet not as song were shaped of these.

Somewhere the deep, mysterious dusk
Treasured a newly opening rose;
The faint, allusive, clinging musk
That out of Eden blows
Flowed round us as a fragrant dream round weary lovers flows.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

To-day I steal back — all alone;
The sun is on the dusty square;
An ancient, withered market-crone
Rests her huge burden there
Where, on the wall, a wilted rose droops in the languid air.

Shuddering, I turn to fly — yet still
I linger; for, beside the pool
A lovely child leans down to fill
His hands with water cool;
He smiles with an unearthly smile, and passes on to school.