  What of the days when we two dreamed together? Days marvellously fair, As lightsome as a skyward-floating feather Sailing on summer air— Summer, summer, that came drifting through Fate’s hand to me, to you. What of the days, my dear? I sometimes wonder If you too wish this sky Could be the blue we sailed so softly under, In that sun-kissed July; Sailed in the warm and yellow afternoon, With hearts in touch and tune. Have you no longing to relive the dreaming, Adrift in my canoe? To watch my paddle blade all wet and gleaming Cleaving the waters through? To lie wind-blown and wave-caressed, until Your restless pulse grows still? Do you not long to listen to the purling Of foam athwart the keel? To hear the nearing rapids softly swirling Among their stones, to feel The boat’s unsteady tremor as it braves The wild and snarling waves? What need of question, what of your replying? Oh! well I know that you Would toss the world away to be but lying Again in my canoe, In listless indolence entranced and lost, Wave-rocked, and passion-tossed. Ah me! my paddle failed me in the steering Across love’s shoreless seas; All reckless, I had ne’er a thought of fearing Such dreary days as these, When through the self-same rapids we dash by, My lone canoe and I. |
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