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 shadows of passion, like the wings of a
home-seeking bird in the dusk.
I forget that you do not remember, and I come.
17
The rain fell fast. The river rushed and hissed. It licked up and swallowed
the island, while I waited alone on the lessening bank with my sheaves of
corn in a heap.
From the shadows of the opposite shore the boat crosses with a woman at the
helm.
I cry to her, "Come to my island coiled round with hungry water, and take
away my year's harvest."
She comes, and takes all that I have to the last grain; I ask her to take
me.
But she says, "No"--the boat is laden with my gift and no room is left for
me.
18
The evening beckons, and I would fain follow the travellers who sailed in
the last ferry of the ebb-tide to cross the dark.
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