What is the cost of a day in Spring—
A wind-swept, rain-washed golden day?
A day that with joy is bubbling—
And dancing adown a world mad-gay?
You've paid for that day with days gone by—
The gloomy days and the days of rain;
The days that you'd like to forget—and try—
Days that were tuned to a note of pain.
Others there are who will never forget
The lowering clouds and the sodden world,
But—though you paid as they paid, eyes wet—
Your banner of courage was still unfurled!
That was the price of this day in June,
Paid in advance with a shrug and a smile—
While others complained, you heard a tune,
Making the gloomiest day worth while!
WE RODE AT NIGHT
We rode at night, and the cut-steel stars
Daggered the black of the quiet sky;
Yet Venus had taken the place of Mars
In the Scheme of the Silent Worlds on high.
The ribbon of road ran straight ahead;
The night air whipped your hair and your face,
Our hearts kept time to the horses' pace,
And we were alive, and our blood was red!
We rode at night.... Though you did not speak
I nearer drew—there was none to see—
Love lent me strength to an arm not weak,
And I swept you out of your saddle—to me!
I rowelled your horse and he thundered on,
While in my arms you cuddled, and sighed;
And I kissed your hair and lips—and lied
When you asked if the coming light was the dawn?
We rode at night; and our love, new-found,
Gloried our way, as the pace slowed down;
Heart against heart, your fingers wound
Close about mine, ere we reached the town.
You cared, you cared! Though your firm white hand
Was cut by the reins you had held too long,
"Dear Cave-man, I love you," you said; "is it wrong?"
O, wonderful night in a wonderful land!
We ride no more, for the years have fled,
The wine of hot Youth is down to the lees;
Broken in body, I dream, instead,
Of the gold-shot Past that age ever sees.
We ride no more.... Yet the scar is still there
On the brave little hand that I kissed that night,
And my love is as strong as the hand is white;
But I wonder—I wonder—do you still care?