FOR M. L. P.

By Olive Tilford Dargan

Rose Love lay dreaming where I passed,

Like flower blown from careless stem;

So still I dared to touch at last

Her white robe's hem.

Rose Love looked up and caught my hand,

Though in her eyes the sea-birds were;

When o'er my brow there blew a strand

Of cold, grey hair.

Rose Love stood up unriddling this,

Till shadows in my eyes grew old;

Then warmed the lock with sudden kiss;

Now flames it gold.