 | Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox |  |
AN AFTERNOON
I am stirred by the dream of an afternoon
Of a perfect day—though it was not June;
The lilt of winds, and the droning tune
That a busy city was humming.
Of a perfect day—though it was not June;
The lilt of winds, and the droning tune
That a busy city was humming.
And a bronze-brown head, and lips like wine
Leaning out through the window-vine
A-list for steps that were maybe mine—
Eager steps that were coming.
Leaning out through the window-vine
A-list for steps that were maybe mine—
Eager steps that were coming.
I can see it all, as a dreamer may—
The tender smile on your lips that day,
And the glow on your cheek as we rode away
Into the golden weather.
The tender smile on your lips that day,
And the glow on your cheek as we rode away
Into the golden weather.
And a love-light shone in your eyes of brown—
I swear there did!—as we drove down
The crowded avenue out of the town
Through shadowy lanes, together:
I swear there did!—as we drove down
The crowded avenue out of the town
Through shadowy lanes, together:
479
Drove out into the sunset-skies
That glowed with wonderful crimson dyes;
And with soul and spirit, and heart and eyes
We silently drank their splendour.
That glowed with wonderful crimson dyes;
And with soul and spirit, and heart and eyes
We silently drank their splendour.
But the golden glory that lit the place
Was not alone from the sunset's grace—
For I saw in your fair, uplifted face
A light that was wondrously tender.
Was not alone from the sunset's grace—
For I saw in your fair, uplifted face
A light that was wondrously tender.
I say I saw it. And yet to-day
I ask myself, in a cynical way,
Was it only a part you had learned to play,
To see me act the lover?
I ask myself, in a cynical way,
Was it only a part you had learned to play,
To see me act the lover?
And I curse myself for a fool. And yet
I would willingly die without one regret
Could I bring back the day whose sun has set—
And you—and live it over.
I would willingly die without one regret
Could I bring back the day whose sun has set—
And you—and live it over.
| Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |