I sit beside you, this last afternoon,
And watch the sunset’s change from gold to grey,
That mirrors well my life of yesterday
Where shadows, born of twilight, fell so soon.
And yet, you seemed so womanly and true—
I never guessed “’Twas but to kill the time!”
For I, who dwelt in Passion’s summer clime,
Played for a life that centred all in you.
I’ve spun no webs, as money-spiders spin,
Nor stacked the shining shekels row on row;