65 GRAY DAYS

I can find no meaning in life. That have weighed the world,—and it was Abundant with folly, and rife With sorrows brittle as glass, And with joys that flicker and pass Like dreams through a fevered head; And as the dripping of rain In gardens naked and dead Is the obdurate thin refrain Of our youth which is presently dead. And Chloris, whom last I loved, Looks ever with loathing on me, As one she hath seen disproved And stained with such smirches as be Not ever cleansed utterly; And is loth to remember the days When destiny fixed her name As the theme and the goal of my praise; And my love engenders shame, And I stain what I strive for and praise. Chloris, most perfect of all, Just to have known you is well! And it heartens me now to recall That just to have known you is well. And naught else is desirable Save only to do as you willed And to love you my whole life long;— But this heart in me is filled With hunger cruel and strong, And with hunger unfulfilled. Fond heart, though thy hunger be As a flame that wanders unstilled, There is none more perfect than she!