I Have Not Forgotten Our Little White Retreat

I have not forgotten our little white retreat Where we were neighbors to the town of busy streets; Our plaster Venus and Pomona barely could Conceal their nakedness within our meagre wood. Evenings, the sun would stream superbly, and would splash Prismatic colors through the simple window glass; He seemed a curious eye in overarching space Who watched us as we dined in silence, without haste, And spread throughout the room a mellow candle-glow On frugal drapes of serge, the tablecloth below.