Page:The Yellow Book - 01.djvu/143



By Arthur Symons

is it I remember yet You, of all women one has met In random wayfare, as one meets The chance romances of the streets, The Juliet of a night? I know Your heart holds many a Romeo. And I, who call to mind your face In so serene a pausing-place, Where the bright pure expanse of sea, The shadowy shore's austerity, Seems a reproach to you and me, I too have sought on many a breast The ecstasy of love's unrest, I too have had my dreams, and met (Ah me!) how many a Juliet. Why is it, then, that I recall You, neither first nor last of all? For, surely as I see to-night The glancing of the lighthouse light, Against the sky, across the bay, As turn by turn it falls my way, So