THE QUESTION

The sea moans and the stars are bright,

The leaves lisp‘ neath a rolling moon.

I shut my eyes against the night

And make believe the time is June —

The June that left us over-soon.

This is the path and this the place

We sat and watched the moving sea,

And I the moonlight on your face.

We were not happy — woe is me,

Happiness is but memory!

It seemeth, now that you are gone,

My heart a measured pain doth keep:—

Are you now, as I am, alone?

Do you make merry, do you weep?

In whose arms are you now asleep?