I left you standing just within the door,
With the dim moonlight streaming on your head
And rippling softly on the checkered floor.
I can remember even the dress you wore—
Some dainty white Swiss stuff that floated round
Your supple form and trailed upon the ground,
While bands of coral bound each slender wrist,
Studded with one great purple amethyst.
My story is not much—is it?—to tell: