Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/354

 Yet it haply may hap That he, When the mirth in his veins is as sap In a tree,

Will remember me too Some day Ere the transit be thoroughly through Of this May—

Or perchance, if such grace May be, Some night when I dream of his face, Dream of me.

Or if this be too high A hope For me to prefigure in my Horoscope,

He may dream of the place Where we Basked once in the light of his face, Who now see

Nought brighter, not one Thing bright, Than the stars and the moon and the sun, Day nor night