Poems . broken basin. The terrace where she used to walk Still shines at noon between the roses :The garden paths are blind with chalk :The diagon-fly from stalk to stalkSwims sparkling blue till eveningcloses. Then, just above that long dark copse, One warm red starcomes out, and passesWestward, and mounts, and mounts, and stops(Or seems to) oer the turret-tops. And lights those lonely casement-glasses. Sir Ralph still wears that old grim smile. The staircase creaks as up I clamberTo those still rooms, to muse see the little meadow-stile Asl lean from the great south-chamber. And Lad
Poems . broken basin. The terrace where she used to walk Still shines at noon between the roses :The garden paths are blind with chalk :The diagon-fly from stalk to stalkSwims sparkling blue till eveningcloses. Then, just above that long dark copse, One warm red starcomes out, and passesWestward, and mounts, and mounts, and stops(Or seems to) oer the turret-tops. And lights those lonely casement-glasses. Sir Ralph still wears that old grim smile. The staircase creaks as up I clamberTo those still rooms, to muse see the little meadow-stile Asl lean from the great south-chamber. And Lady Ruth is just as white. (Ah, still, that face seems strangelylike her!)The lady and the wicked knight—-All just the same — she swooned forfright —And he — his arm still raised to strikeher. Her boudoir — no one enters there :The very flowers which last she gath-eredAre in the vase ; the lute — the chair —And all things—just as then they were !Except the jasmins, — those are > s ^V_. , ?^ The breezy deck Of some felucca. — Page 374. MEETING AGAIN.—AT HER CASEMENT. 375 But when along the corridors The last red pause of day is streaming,I seem to hear her up the floors :I seem to see her through the doors ; And then I know that I am dreaming. MEETING AGAIN. Yes ; I remember the white rose. And since then theyoungivy has grown;From your window we could not reach it, and now it is over the did not part as we meet. Dear. Well, Time hath his own stern cures !And Alices eyes are deeper, and her hair has grown like yours. Is our greeting all so strange then ? But there s something here amiss,When it is not well to speak kindly. And the olives are ripe by had not thought you so altered. But all is changed, God knows !Good-night. Itisnightsosoonnow. Look there! you have dropt your rose. Nay, I have one that is withered and dearer to me. I cameTo say good night, little Alice. She does not remember my is but the damp that is m
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