What name will it find in a few more seasons,
When we both dissolve in an equal dust?

If a God there be, and a God seems needed
To make the beauty of things like thee,
He doubtless also, some careless moment,
Mixed the forces that fashioned me.
Also He, for His own good reason--
Though I care little how these things are--
Gave me thee, in those few brief midnights,
And that one solace He never can mar.

Ah me, the stars of such varying heavens
Have watched me, under such alien skies,
Lay thy beauty naked before me
To soothe and solace my world-worn eyes.
For one good gift to me has been given--
A memory accurate, clear and keen,
That holds the vision, perfect for ever
In charm and glory, of things once seen.

So I hold thee there, and my fancy wanders
To each known beauty and blue-veined place,
I know how each separate eyelash trembles,
And every shadow that sweeps thy face.
And this is a joy of which none can rob me,
This is a pleasure that none can mar--
As sweet as thou wert, in that long past midnight,
Even as lovely my memories are.