Other Days
I wonder if you ever dream of other days,
Because, sometimes, at twilight when the sunset
plays
Half wistfully across the polished oaken floor,
I see you smiling—standing in your place once more.
(Do you remember little things we used to say?
They wouldn’t mean so very much to us to-day....
Do you remember how I wore a gown of blue,
Because it brought the haze of autumn clouds to you?
Do you remember how I said you didn’t care—
And how you laughed at me and rumpled up my
hair?
Do you remember how the tears stood in my eyes
At your good-by when darkness overhung the skies?)
I wonder if you ever dream of other days?
Because, sometimes at twilight when the sunset plays
Half wistfully across your empty cozy-chair,
I turn and half expect to see you smiling there!
THIS IS TO YOU, DEAR,
TO YOU, UNKNOWING;
JUST AS THE SOUTH WIND
WISTFULLY BLOWING
TOUCHES SOME FLOWER—
SO IS MY SONG, DEAR,
THROUGH EVERY HOUR,
ALL THE DAY LONG, DEAR,
TO YOU, UNKNOWING!