The Last Meeting

Last time you met me shadowed white,
A very queen for stateliness,
And all the jewels of the night
Were tangled in your ivory dress.
Your eyes were strange, your lovely smile
As though we never met before—
I saw you such a little while,
Who shall not see you evermore.

God knows the gates were strong between.
But still my trumpet might have blown
Had you not looked so great a queen.
Had I but seen you all alone.
But there we sat the dinner through
And talked like strangers of the war.
I only spoke an hour with you.
Who now shall speak with you no more.

Maybe I waited over-long,
You spoke no word to tell me so.
Perhaps the gates might be too strong
For any blast that I could blow.
Ah well, it hardly matters now,
My whispering ghost drifts through the rain,
The shroud of death is at my brow,
I shall not come to you again.

1915