Two Fragments Of Childhood

When these locks were yellow as gold, When past days were easily told, Well I knew the voice of the sea, Once he spake as a friend to me.

Thunder-roarings carelessly heard, Once that poor little heart they stirred. Why, oh, why? Memory, Memory! She that I wished to be with was by.

Sick was I in those misanthrope days Of soft caresses, womanly ways; Once that maid on the stairs I met, Lip on brow she suddenly set.

Then flushed up my chivalrous blood Like Swiss streams in a midsummer flood. Then, oh, then, Imogen, Imogen! Hadst thou a lover, whose years were ten.