Page:Eight Harvard Poets.djvu/59

Four Sonnets from a Sonnet-Sequence IV

after both of us are scattered dust And some strange souls perchance shall read of thee, Finding the yearnings that have crushed from me These poor confessions of my love and trust, I know how misinterpreted will be These lines, for men will laugh, or more unjust, Thinking not once of love, but only lust, Will stain the vesture of our memory.

And yet a few there may be who will feel My deep devotion and my true desires, And know that these unhappy words reveal Only new images in changeless fires; And they perchance will linger with a sigh To think that beauty such as these must die. 48