The Lost Word

HIGH above a waveless sea, On the hills of long ago, There you lived awhile with me, And we loved—I know.

For your hair I made a crown, Twined it with these hands of mine, Sun-warmed leaves and tendrils brown, From the happy vine.

You were like some woodland thing, Fear and rapture in your eyes, Tender as a breath of Spring Blown from April skies.

Then I called you, and you heard, To your lover’s arms you came: Ah! what was that magic word, Your forgotten name!