Chapter I

Has she forgotten? On this very May We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away The vines from these old granites, cold and gray-- And yet indeed not grim enough were they To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstasies, Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. Has she forgotten--that the May has won Its promise?--that the bird-songs from the tree Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? Has she forgotten life--love--everyone-- Has she forgotten me--forgotten me?