<h2><SPAN name="page150"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>AN AFTERNOON</h2>
<p class="poetry">I am stirred by the dream of an afternoon<br/>
Of a perfect day—though it was not June;<br/>
The lilt of winds, and the droning tune<br/>
That a busy city was humming.</p>
<p class="poetry">And a bronze-brown head, and lips like wine<br/>
Leaning out through the window-vine<br/>
A-list for steps that were maybe mine—<br/>
Eager steps that were coming.</p>
<p class="poetry">I can see it all, as a dreamer may—<br/>
The tender smile on your lips that day,<br/>
And the glow on your cheek as we rode away<br/>
Into the golden weather.</p>
<p class="poetry">And a love-light shone in your eyes of
brown—<br/>
I swear there did!—as we drove down<br/>
The crowded avenue out of the town,<br/>
Through shadowy lanes, together:</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page151"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
151</span>Drove out into the sunset-skies<br/>
That glowed with wonderful crimson dyes;<br/>
And with soul and spirit, and heart and eyes,<br/>
We silently drank their splendour.</p>
<p class="poetry">But the golden glory that lit the place<br/>
Was not alone from the sunset’s grace—<br/>
For I saw in your fair, uplifted face<br/>
A light that was wondrously tender.</p>
<p class="poetry">I say I saw it. And yet to-day<br/>
I ask myself, in a cynical way,<br/>
Was it only a part you had learned to play,<br/>
To see me act the lover?</p>
<p class="poetry">And I curse myself for a fool. And yet<br/>
I would willingly die without one regret<br/>
Could I bring back the day whose sun has set—<br/>
And you—and live it over.</p>
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