These are the paths we loved— These the shadows stretching lazily In the sun's last light. And these the scented hours Of dusk, when you and I So often walked beneath the pines To hear the cardinal's heart call To his shy mate watching from her sanctuary. Here I have come remembering, Tonight, where we stood That day you wove a garland Of crane's bill and elder flower For my hair. Your voice was gentle and your words Were low as you put the wreath Upon my head and tangled your fingers In my wind-brushed curls. So strangely sweet your voice— Timid—half-afraid—that my shy laughter And my unbelief drove back Your words into the secret places Of your heart. The years have passed. Tonight the birds have come to drink Beside this maple bordered stream.— These are the paths we loved— The pines—the wind—the hour— I wonder— Have you come back tonight—Remembering? |