You, to whom I tell my tale,
Swinging in your hammock there,
Where the shadows wane and pale-
Tell me, can my tale compare
With the romance you and I
Weave in living tapestry?
All the world shall be our loom,
Every thought a shuttle flying,
Threading, weaving, twining, tying,
Tinting, gilding, staining, dyeing
Time itself with youth and bloom.
You, for whom I write my tales,
Smiling in your hammock there,
Where the silken thistle sails
Tiny ships in tiny gales,
Tempest-tossed on seas of air-
There's a tale beyond compare
Where your drooping lids disguise
Magic legends in your eyes!
Every hour shall add a page
In our romance gaily blending,
Every dawn a chapter sending,
Every eve a chapter ending;
"Thou and I—from Age to Age!"
Swinging in your hammock there,
Where a slanting sunbeam paints
Aureoles around your hair
Fair as on your sister saintes-
Read once more the glowing page:
"Thou and I-from Age to Age !"
April, 1899.