PHYLLIS

Phyllis, I knew you once when I was young,

And travelled to your land of Arcady.

Do you, of all the songs, wild songs, before you flung,

Remember mine — its buoyant melody,

Its hope, its pride; do you remember it?

It was the song that makes the world go round;

I bought it of a Boy: in scars I paid for it,

Phyllis, to you who jested at my wound.