A Memory

The Night walked down the sky
— With the moon in her hand;
By the light of that yellow lantern
— I saw you stand.

The hair that swept your shoulders
— Was yellow, too,
Your feet as they touched the grasses
— Shamed the dew.

The Night wore all her jewels,
— And you wore none,
But your gown had the odor of lilies
— Drenched with sun.

And never was Eve of the Garden
— Or Mary the Maid
More pure than you as you stood there
— Bold, yet afraid.

And the sleeping birds woke, trembling,
— And the folded flowers were aware,
And my senses were faint with the fragrant
— Gold of your hair.

And our lips found ways of speaking
— What words cannot say,
Till a hundred nests gave music,
— And the East was gray.
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