Poetry Archives

One hour, Dear, and then, no more alone.
We front another day as man and wife.
I shall be back almost before I’m gone,
And midnight shall anoint and crown our life.”
Then through the gate he passed.  Along the street
She watched his buttons gleaming in the moon.
He stopped to wave and turned the garden wall.
Straight she sank down upon a mossy seat.
Her senses, mist-encircled by a swoon,
Swayed to unconsciousness beneath its wreathing pall.