Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/221

 summer comes, then you are near to me, I feel your phantom presence on my heart, In every wind the dead year speaks again, And every scene springs up to take its part.

'Twas such a day, as sweet a wind arose. To kiss with perfumed Ups your brown blown hair; With brow perplexed and that odd smile you had, I wondered what you thought of, standing there.

'Twas here I stooped to pluck a drooping flower, You prayed so foolishly that vou might keep; And here you turned a moment's space so cold, I only laughed for fear that I should weep.

O phantom love I that haunts me restlessly. That from my passionate hands will ever fly, Fate owes me this, I will pursue and hold, Or, finding you but shadow, let me die.