I dreamed that we walked together
Side by side in the twilight dim,
And through your lowered lashes
I saw the bright tear swim.
I kissed your cheek and your eyelids,
I saw the tear-drop fall,
But oh, your red, red lips, love—
I kissed them most of all.
One cannot always dream sweetly.
Small rest since then have I known,
For, sorrowful oft and weary,
I watch through the night-hours alone.
Alas! your cheeks so soft, love,
I touch but with glances trist,
And those red lips, my darling,
I never, never have kissed.
I showed the apothecary this poem and offered to let him use it. He read it through attentively twice and blushed all over with delight.
“Did you really write that yourself?” he inquired in his simplicity of heart.
“Yes, I’m sorry to admit.”
He thanked me very warmly for the permission to use the poem, and when he went out of the room I imagine we both had the feeling that we must drop the formality of “mister” at the first opportunity.
That evening there was a little party at the girl’s house. Young folks were there. We drank cherry syrup on a veranda festooned with hop-vines.
I sat and looked at the young girl.