Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/328

 Behind me, and to pray that all be well With Vivian, whose unquiet heart is hungry For what is not, and what shall never be Without her, in a world that men are making, Knowing not how, nor caring yet to know How slowly and how grievously they do it, Though Vivian, in her golden shell of exile, Knows now and cares, not knowing that she cares, Nor caring that she knows. In time to be, The like of her shall have another name Than Vivian, and her laugh shall be a fire, Not shining only to consume itself With what it burns. She knows not yet the name Of what she is, for now there is no name; Some day there shall be. Time has many Unwritten yet, for what we say is old Because we are so young that it seems old. And this is all a part of what I saw Before you saw King Arthur. When we parted. I told her I should see the King again, And, having seen him, might go back again To see her face once more. But I shall see No more the lady Vivian. Let her love What man she may, no other love than mine Shall be an index of her memories. I fear no man who may come after me, And I see none. I see her, still in green, Beside the fountain. I shall not go back. We pay for going back ; and all we get Is one more needless ounce of weary wisdom To bring away with us. If I come not, The lady Vivian will remember me, And say : 'I knew him when his heart was young, Though I have lost him now. Time called him home,