AGAIN.
37
We dared not love each other, Yet a something half divine—A something I would not forget For Peru's golden mine—
Embalmed the precious, holy hours, The hours spent with you,As night the many sleeping flowers Begems with crystal dew.
But had we both been free to feel "The passion of the heart,"Would fate's unrolling scroll reveal That we but met to part?
Say, would you then have turned aside Your glances from my own?Would I have buried in my pride My heart's deep undertone?
And now we call each other friend, And walk our separate ways—While memory rainbows brightly bend Above the olden days.
