Xxvi

Although, these Autumn eves, So wistfully, Between the trees, all down the paths Fall the listless yellow leaves Between the trees and down the paths, Although while Autumn grieves, The night-wind reaps a harvest pale, So wistfully, Where the late-blown roses fail Loosing petals wan in showers-- Ah, let no petal from our love Fall and wither with the flowers. But let us both lean close above The smouldering hearth of memory-- But let us tend and feed the glowing coals And reach our hands and warm our souls Against the winter-cold and misery, Against the hour that tolls the death of all desire, Against our very selves, our stricken passion-- Oh, lean with me above the blessed fire That Memory's hands have kindled in compassion. And if the skies be drowned While passionate Autumn roams the world and rakes The woods and the wild lakes, No echo of the madness shall be found In that safe garden, inmost and supreme, here in the breathing stillness sound The quiet footfalls of our Dream.