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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
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.
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?
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.
