XXX

My Lady of the Sonnets, one word more,

The last; and, after, let the silence fall.

Our year is ended, and things great and small

Glow with its glory; could we live it o'er,

What would we scatter from its precious store

Of pearl, chalcedony, and topaz — all

The many-jewelled moments that we call

Love's treasure — we who had not loved before!

Into that treasure plunge we both our hands,

The while we laugh, and love, and live again.

What rainbow-splendours and what golden sands

Fall from our fingers!... Now let come the pain

And steal the shadow, moan the wintry sea;

Locked is the casket: in your hands the key!