Chapter XXXIII: The Ghost

You came and you went, and I swept you aside, not a trace Does my wisdom endure of your words and your beautiful face And the curls of your hair; Yet your presence, a song, murmurs ever in hopeless refrain, And I wake in the night with my empty hands yearning in vain For the touch of your hair.

You went, and I triumphed--I crushed out my heart with a kiss On the lips that are ashen, forgetting spring's wonderful bliss And your tremulous lips; Yet the kisses were ghostly with jasmine, dear jasmine of May-- The new has the soul of the old, is aflame with the way And the touch of your lips.

You came and you went, and the world wearies on with its game. My heart never falters or fears at the sound of your name Or the sight of your face; Yet the ghost of our passion stands white in the midst of my heart, With your hands and your hair, and I know it will never depart Passion's ghost with your face!