WHEN LIFE IS REAL
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e rode, we rode against the wind.The countless lights along the townMade the town blacker for their fire,And you were always looking down. To 'scape the blustering breath of March,Or was it for your mind's disguise?Still I could shut my eyes and seeThe turquoise color of your eyes. Surely your ermine furs were warm,And warm your flowing cloak of red;Was it the wild wind kept you thusPensive and with averted head? I scarcely spoke, my words were sweptLike winged things in the wind's despite.We rode, and with what shadow speedAcross the darkness of the night! Without a word, without a look.What was the charm and what the spellThat made one hour of life becomeA memory ever memorable? * * * * * All craft, all labor, all desire,All toil of age, all hope of youthAre shadows from the fount of fireAnd mummers of the truth. How bloodless books, how pulseless art,Vain kingly and imperial zeal,Vain all memorials of the heart!When Life itself is real! We traced the golden clouds of spring,We roved the beach, we walked the land.What was the world? A Phantom thingThat vanished in your hand. You were as quiet as the sky.Your eyes were liquid as the sea.And in that hour that passed us byWe lived eternally.
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