AN AFTERNOON

I am stirred by the dream of an afternoon

Of a perfect day — though it was not June;

The lilt of winds, and the droning tune

That a busy city was humming.

And a bronze-brown head, and lips like wine

Leaning out through the window-vine

A-list for steps that were maybe mine -

Eager steps that were coming.

I can see it all, as a dreamer may -

The tender smile on your lips that day,

And the glow on your cheek as we rode away

Into the golden weather.

And a love-light shone in your eyes of brown -

I swear there did!— as we drove down

The crowded avenue out of the town,

Through shadowy lanes, together:

Drove out into the sunset-skies

That glowed with wonderful crimson dyes;

And with soul and spirit, and heart and eyes,

We silently drank their splendour.

But the golden glory that lit the place

Was not alone from the sunset's grace -

For I saw in your fair, uplifted face

A light that was wondrously tender.

I say I saw it. And yet to-day

I ask myself, in a cynical way,

Was it only a part you had learned to play,

To see me act the lover?

And I curse myself for a fool. And yet

I would willingly die without one regret

Could I bring back the day whose sun has set -

And you — and live it over.