University of Virginia Library

A Dialogue

Lui.
Oh, have you found the Fount of Youth,
Or have you faced the Fire of Kôr?
Or whence the form, the eyes, the mouth,
The voice, the grace we praised of yore?
Ah, lightly must the years have sped—
The long, the labour-laden years—
That cast no snows upon your head,
Nor dim your eyes with any tears!
And gently must the heart have beat,
That, after many days, can send
So soft, so kind a blush to greet
The advent of so old a friend.

Elle.
Another tale doth it repeat,
My mirror; and it tells me true!
But time, the thief of all things sweet,
Has failed to steal one grace from you.
One touch of youth he cannot steal,
One trait there is he leaves you yet—
The boyish loyalty, the leal
Absurd, impossible regret!
These are the magic: these restore
A phantom of the April prime,
Show you the face you liked of yore,
And give me back the thefts of time!