Page:Eight Harvard Poets.djvu/128

The Fiddler O happy time! How goodly seemed The dauntless timeless dream I dreamed, Those dear imaginary sins, The joys that is one torrent streamed.

When moon and stars go out for aye, And I am dead and castaway, This autumn city I have loved Will know me not, but he will stay.

In faded suburbs he will play Some other boy's brief morn away, Till sapphire windows palely burn Amid the undefeated gray.

And yet — sometimes I seem to know 1 shall not 'scape his phantom bow; More paramount than death or pain, This ghost will follow where I go.

In some well-kept untroubled hell Where frustrate souls like mine may dwell, I shall look up and hear his note Coming across the asphodel.

No shades will gather at his tune To dance their ghostly rigadoon, Only that lonely voice will cleave The everlasting afternoon. 115