Nor in your eyes the olden face;
Nor in your ears that olden voice;
Yet something makes us still rejoice
And rapture dreams with mating birds
As if our hearts filled with their words.
“Gertie! Gertie! Gertie!” “Peter! Peter! Peter!”
Who set the mock-bird’s throat to meter?
Maybe Eve called Adam so
In dark days when shadowed woe;
Thus called Adam in the dark