By Graham R. Thomson

THE YELLOW light of an opal
On the white-walled houses dies
The roadway beyond my garden
It glimmers with golden eyes.

Alone in the faint spring twilight,
The crepuscle vague and blue,
Every beat of my pulses
Is quickened by dreams of you.

You whom I know and know not
You come as you came before
Here, in the misty quiet,
I greet you again once more.

Welcome, O best belovèd—
Life of my life—for lo!
All that I ask you promise,
All that I seek you know.

The dim grass stirs with your footstep,
The blue dusk throbs with your smile;
I and the world of glory
Are one for a little while.

The spring sun shows me your shadow,
The spring wind bears me your breath,
You are mine for a passing moment,
But I am yours to the death.

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