THE FUGITIVE
19
But raise your eyes, and let me know if there still linger some shadow of other days, like a pale cloud on the horizon that has been robbed of its rain.
For a moment bear with me if I forget myself.
The roses are still in bud; they do not yet know how we neglect to gather flowers this summer.
The morning star has the same palpitating hush; the early light is enmeshed in the branches that overbrow your window, as in those other days.
That times are changed I forget for a little, and have come.
I forget if you ever shamed me by looking away when I bared my heart.
I only remember the words that stranded on the tremor of your lips; I remember in your dark eyes sweeping
