Never a king in days of eld
Gathered about his throat
Such a circlet; no queen e'er held
Necklace so clear of mote.
It sufficeth the charm was set;
And if it chance that one
Still remembers, though one forget,
Then is the worst thing done—
Done, and I still can say "Let be;
I have no word of blame;
Though her heart is no more for me,
Mine shall be still the same."
I have my life to live and she—
Well, if it be so—so;
She may welcome or banish me
And if I go, I go.
Friend, I pray you repress those tears,
Comfort from this derive:
I am a score—and more-of years
And Jean is only five.
A MEMORY
From buckwheat fields the summer sun
Drew honeyed breezes over
The lanes where happy children run
With bare feet in the clover.
The schoolhouse stood with pines about
Upon the hill, and ever
A creek, where hid the speckled trout,
Ran past it to the river.
And rosy faces gathered there,
With rustic good around them;
With breath of balm blown everywhere,
Pure, ere the world had found them.
Behind sweet purple ambuscades
Of lilacs, laws were broken;
And here a desk with knives was frayed,
There passed forbidden token.