Poetry Archives

I have been here before,
     But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
     The sweet, keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,—
     How long ago I may not know:
But just when at the swallow’s soar
     Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall—I knew it all of yore.
Then, now,—perchance again!…
     O round mine eyes your tresses shake!
Shall we not lie as we have lain
     Thus for Love’s sake,
And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?