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Moonlight silvers the ghostly tops of trees,
Moonlight whitens the lilac-shadowed wall;
And through the soft-starred evening fall,
Clearly, as if through enchanted seas,
Footsteps passing, an infinite distance away,
In another world and another day.
Moonlight turns the purple lilacs to blue,
Moonlight leaves the fountain hoar and old,
Moonlight whitens the sleepy dew,
And the boughs of elms grow green and cold ...
Our footsteps echo on gleaming stones,
The leaves are stirred to a jargon of muted tones ...
This is the night we have kept, you say:
This is the moonlight night that never will die ...
Let us return there, let us return, you and I,--
Through the grey streets our memories retain
Let us go back again.


Mist goes up from the river to dim the stars,
The river is black and cold; so let us dance
To a tremor of violins and troubled guitars,
And flare of horns, and clang of cymbals and drums;
And strew the glimmering floor with petals of roses,
And remember, while rich music yawns and closes,
With a luxury of pain, how silence comes ...
Yes, we have loved each other, long ago,
We moved like wind to a music's ebb and flow ...
At a phrase from the violins you closed your eyes,
And smiled, and let me lead you ... how young we were!
Waves of music beneath us dizzied to rise ...
Your hair, upon that music, seemed to stir ...
Let us return there, let us return, you and I,
Through changeless streets our memories retain
Let us go back again.


Mist goes up from the rain-steeped earth, and clings
Ghostly with lamplight among the drenched maple trees,
We walk in silence and see how the lamplight flings
Fans of shadow upon it ... the music's mournful pleas
Die out behind us, the door is closed at last,
A net of silver silence is softly cast
Over our dreams ... slowly and softly we walk,
Quietly, with delicious pause, we talk,
Of foolish trivial things, of life and death,
Time, and forgetfulness, and dust and truth,
Lilacs and youth.
You laugh, I hear the after-taken breath,
You darken your eyes, and turn away your head
At something I have said--
Some tremulous intuition that flew too deep,
And struck a plangent chord ... to-night, to-night,
You will remember it as you fall asleep,
Your dream will suddenly blossom with sharp delight ...
Good-night! you say ...
The leaves of the lilac softly dip and sway,
The purple spikes of bloom
Nod their sweetness upon us, and lift again,
Your white face turns away, I am caught with pain,--
And silence descends ... and the dripping of dew from the eaves
And jewelled points of leaves.


I walk in a pleasure of sorrow along the street
And try to remember you ... the slow drops patter,
The mist upon the lilacs has made them sweet,
I brush them with my sleeve, the cool drops scatter,
And suddenly I laugh ... and stand and listen
As if another had laughed ... a fragrant gust
Rustles the laden leaves, the wet spikes glisten,
A shower of drops goes down on stones and dust.
And it seems as though it were you who had shaken the bough,
And spilled the fragrance--I pursue your face again,
It grows more vague and lovely, it eludes me now ...
I remember that you are gone, and drown in pain ...
Something, just as the music seemed to fall,
That made you laugh, and burns me still with pleasure ...
What were the words--the words like dripping fire?...
I remember them now, and smile, and in sweet leisure
Rehearse the scene, more exquisite than before,
And you more beautiful, and I more wise ...
Lilacs and spring, and night, and your clear eyes,
And you, in white, by the darkness of a door:
These things, like voices weaving to richest music,
Flow and fall in the cool night of my mind,
I pursue your ghost among green leaves that are ghostly,
I pursue you, but cannot find ...
And suddenly, with a pang that is sweetest of all,
I become aware that I cannot remember you;
The beautiful ghost I knew
Has silently plunged in the shadows, shadows that stream and fall.


Let us go in and dance once more
On the dream's glimmering floor,
Beneath the balcony festooned with roses.
Let us go in and dance once more ...
The door behind us closes
Against an evening purple with stars and mists ...
Let us go in and keep our tryst
With music and white roses, and spin around
In lazy swirls of sound.
Do you foresee me, married and grown old?...
And you, who smile about you at this room
Dizzy with whirling dancers--is it foretold
That you must step from tummult into a gloom,
Forget me, love another, grow white and cold?
No, you are Cleopatra, fiercely young,
Laughing upon the topmost stair of night;
Roses upon the desert must be flung,
It is your wish ... Above us, light by light,
Weaves the delirious darkness, petals fall,
They fall upon your jewelled hands, they tremble upon your hair,--
And music breaks in waves on the pillared wall,
And you are Cleopatra, and do not care ...
And so, in memory, you will always be--
Young and foolish, a thing of dream and mist;
And so, perhaps, when all is disillusioned,
And eternal spring returns once more,
Bringing a ghost of lovelier springs remembered,
You will remember me.


Yet when we meet we seem in silence to say,
Pretending serene forgetfulness of our youth,
'Do you remember ... but then why should you remember!...
Do you remember, a certain day,
Or evening rather,--spring evening long ago,--
We talked of death, and love, and time, and truth...
And said such wise things, things that amused us so...?
How foolish we were, who thought ourselves so wise!'--
And then we laugh, with shadows in our eyes.