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I have shut fast the door, for so I may

Relive that moment of the turn of tide—

That swift solution of the long delay

That clothed with silver splendor dying day;

And, with low-whispering memory for guide,

See once again your startled eyes confide

The secret of surrender; and your hand

Flutter toward mine, before you turn aside—

And the gold wings of young consent expand

Fresh from the cracking chrysalis of Nay!

I did not dare to speak at first. It seemed

A thing unreal, that with the air might blend—

That strange swift signal—and I feared I dreamed!

Ahead, the city’s lamps, converging, gleamed

To a thin angle at the street’s far bend,

And, as we neared, each from its column’s end

Stepped out, and past us, furtive, slipped away:

Nor could Love’s self a longer respite lend

The radiant moments of our shortening day,

That Time, the donor, one by one redeemed.