Page:The Recluse by W Paul Cook.djvu/66



There is no balm that time brings with the years… The dullard days cure not my own dull pain, When only thoughts of you do still remain. Ah, ’tis a jest to allay children’s fears, To say that time will right the heart’s arrears. Why do they mock me? Can the heart contain Your presence multiplied? Can I refrain From crying lie…when such a lie appears?


 * Under glare of tropic sun,
 * Crowded sidewalk we
 * Stood upon. And no one passed,
 * No one jostled me.

Now you are gone. Oh words as few as four, To think that they can carry such a power To transmute light to darkness, yet no more Than four small words to you. Oh for one hour! What would I change for just one hour again? I feel you as I see arbutus show, I feel you in the warmth of summer rain, You are in autumn colours, when they go Somewhere, I know not where, yet would that I Could, after you are gone return to you, As after winter’s blight they blossom new Into the spring again. I wonder why To you no more than four small words are they… They’re on my lips so many times a day.


 * In no dream I ever miss
 * You and I together,
 * Soft cheek, first kiss,
 * Light as a feather.

Before me is a picture that was you, But only can I see your parted hair Was short like mine. You could not then know who Would once possess it and if you had known… But then, it does not matter…it is true Your lips are tight, your eyes are full of care.


 * In studio, late one night,
 * We thought to say good-bye.
 * You back to be a wife,
 * I home to die.

Gone is the life from beauty since you went, It is no more than just a shining row