148
LAST YEAR.
LAST YEAR.
I.
OU thought, O Love, you loved me then, I know,—For that I bless you, now when Love is cold,
Remembering how warm the tale you told
When winds of Autumn fitfully did blow,
And by the sea's perpetual ebb and flow
We wandered on together to behold
Noon's radiant splendor, or the sunset's gold,
Or beauty of still nights, when moons hung low.
Your voice grew tender as you called my name,—
I heard that voice to-day,—was it the same?—
The old time's music trembles in it yet:
Your touch thrilled through me like a sudden flame,
And then a sweet and subtle madness came,
And lips, cold now, my lips had quickly met.
