Memory

I stood once at the gates of Paradise;
I, even I — who now may chance on hell —
Stood there and heard the things unutterable
Love showeth once to all. And those dear eyes
Looked into mine, and then, as one who sighs
For joy of peace, I sighed, nor broke the spell
By any word. My kisses served to tell
My utter love; her kisses for replies.

Oh, sweet, how sweet, all I had even then!
And great the promise of the years to be.
Now must I stand deserted amongst men?
Nay, not deserted while thy memory,
O love, hath still in its supreme control
The failing body and the aspiring soul.