 | Love-Songs |  |
II.
The roads we trod together, gleam and shine,—Grey, cold, and sour, and flint-bedecked before,—
But now the moon of fancy on the shore
Of bitter absence sheds a silver line,
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To elude our present overpowering tread,
But flame in sweet prismatic green and red
And gold and fairy lacework clean and fine
When distance has transfigured the broad field—
So every stone we touched in this dull town,
Then garbed in ordinary dust and brown,
A golden flash of colour seems to yield,
And shines like some anointed luscious shield,
Under the bitter fire of memory's frown.
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