To J. R.
Last Sunday night I read the saddening story
Of the unanswered love of fair Elaine,
The ‘faith unfaithful’ and the joyless glory
Of Lancelot, ‘groaning in remorseful pain.’
I thought of all those nights in wintry weather,
Those Sunday nights that seem not long ago,
When we two read our Poet’s words together,
Till summer warmth within our hearts did glow.
Ah, when shall we renew that bygone pleasure,
Sit down together at our Merlin’s feet,
Drink from one cup the overflowing measure,
And find, in sharing it, the draught more sweet?
That time perchance is far, beyond divining.
Till then we drain the ‘magic cup’ apart;
Yet not apart, for hope and memory twining
Smile upon each, uniting heart to heart.