Page:When the Leaves Come Out (Chaplin 1917).pdf/18

 

A wild flood of images fills me,
 * Dim pictures I cannot define;

An ecstatic wonderment thrills me,
 * A loveliness dream-like, divine;

A maid in the mist-hazy heather—
 * A world that can never be mine.

O maid of the mist-hazy heather,
 * Diaphanous nymph of the night;

O come, let us hasten together
 * To some hidden vale of delight.

The dark woods are dream-lands of shadow,
 * The mist is the mantle of white.

Let us roam through the honey-sweet flowers
 * As the scent-heavy petals unfold,

Let us harvest a bright sheath of hours
 * While the wet moon is circled with gold.

Let us gambol and frolic and dally
 * As we did on the hillsides of old.

A hot flood of eagerness fills me,
 * More wond'rous than dream-working wine,

The far call of memory thrills me;
 * My hand groping blindly for thine . ..

But the days of the Earth-Love have vanished—
 * The world that can never be mine.

