Well I remember it, that night in May,
That last, sweet night in the Old World long ago,
The last ere my departure—the dark room
That brooded ’round us, and the drowsy breath,
Out of the courtyard, of the linden-trees,
Pungent and sad. Only your hand I felt,
Reached to me in the darkness; and the beat
All through its fingers of the unconscious blood,
Your life at battle, in the silence told
Immortally to mine its plaintive tale