You the dancer and I the dreamer,
Children together,
Wandering lost in the night of London,
In the miraculous April weather.
DURING MUSIC.
THE music had the heat of blood,
A passion that no words can reach;
We sat together, and understood
Our own heart’s speech.
We had no need of word or sign,
The music spoke for us, and said
All that her eyes could read in mine
Or mine in hers had read.
ON THE BRIDGE.
MIDNIGHT falls across hollow gulfs of
night
As a stone that falls in a sounding well;
Under us the Seine flows through dark and light,
While the beat of time—hark!—is audible.
Lights on bank and bridge glitter gold and red,
Lights upon the stream glitter red and white;
Under us the night, and the night overhead.
We together, we alone together in the night.
“I DREAM OF HER.”
I DREAM of her the whole night long,
The pillows with my tears are wet.
I wake, I seek amid the throng
The courage to forget.
Yet still, as night comes round, I dread,
With unavailing fears,
The dawn that finds, beneath my head,
The pillows wet with tears.